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oirr OF THE HBHis uf 
WiLLiAU Henrt Wait. Ph.D. 


• » 






This title-page is reproduced 
from *< La Natura Angelica," 
Ximenes, 1527. 

All rights reserved 




This little volume, so carefully chosen and selected, 
is, in the first place, a book of biography and anec- 
dote, somewhat in the manner of Vasari. It is 
also something more, for it combines with its charm 
of narrative much critical power, though without 
^ pedantry, and in fact makes a first-rate intro- 

duction to the study of the Spanish school of 

But we may ask unto ourselves, What is Spanish 

painting ? In what is it peculiarly national ? In 

what does it differ from other schools, and from 

C> which does it derive most? It will be well to 

come to some decision in these matters. 

Among a people that was a creation of the 
Church, only really united by its religion, so pecu- 
liar in the sincerity of its hatred of the infidel, the 
heretic, not strong enough, as it were, to tolerate 
I the smallest shortcoming in the observance of its 

faith, since just there lay the secret of its nation- 
ality, art, too, was just a religious, vowed to God. 
And since the national religion of Spain — the re- 
ligion of the majority — was so profoundly careful 
of the truth which God, as they supposed, had 
revealed to man, and first of all to His Church, 


you have in Spanish art, for the most part, a grave 
and almost brutal insistence upon the mere facts 
of things which seemed so terribly important: 
the agony of Christ, for instance, the dreadful 
physical torture of the Divine Body that is already 
wasted away to a mere skeleton, in many a picture 
of the Crucifixion where you may see that Agony 
and bloody Sweat stated frankly with an almost 
unbearable insistence and simplicity that are piti- 
ful in their preoccupation with the mere truth of 
a religion that was fast materialising itself into 
just facts. If there is anything there of the mys- 
ticism of St. Teresa or St. Juan de la Cruz, which, 
after all, maybe, was only a more strict attention 
to those truths than was possible for the people 
themselves, a continual contemplation of them, 
as it were; it is not yet freed from all its cold- 
ness, and from much of its horror, by the ardent 
beauty of spirit everywhere to be found in the 
work as in the lives of those two poets, who were 
saints almost by chance, and because nothing that 
was less difficult, no expression of their restlessness 
less perfect, could have occupied them a whole 
life long between the silences that will not be ques- 
tioned. They seem to insist upon nothing but love 
in a world already devoured by hate, and, in despair 
of something they cannot understand, to urge 
God continually to hide them in Himself, to cover 
them with His own most royal silence. Personal 
as their achievement is, as all the greatest achieve- 


ments of Spain seem to have been, the work of 
Loyola, the art of Velasquez, of Cervantes, they 
fulfilled their dreams by sheer force of genius, 
of an immense and passionate vitality ; and while 
in Velasquez we see the very lovely and perfect 
expression of his own dream of a world, in other 
Spanish painters we discern more clearly the 
dreams of Spain herself, of the Spanish people, 
just because their genius does not obscure the 
nationalism of their work. 

And so, whether it be in Toledo or in Seville 
or in Estremadura or in Valencia, Spanish art, 
already a hundred years later in its development 
than the art of Italy, is just a religious hampered 
by all the dogmatism of the Spanish ecclesiastic, 
oblivious not of life but of laughter, of the gaiety, 
for instance, which you may find implicit almost 
in Fra Angelico*s work, really just a drudge of 
the Church that, so she said, set no store by things 
which rust and moth doth corrupt. 

Thus it comes about that the Spanish painter 
is the slave of his subject, a kind of lay preacher 
repeating the words of the priest, illustrating 
them, as it were, without any freedom whatso- 
ever, since in a picture of the Crucifixion, for 
instance, there must be four nails, not three, the 
Cross itself must be just so high, so broad, it must 
be made of flat wood even, not of round or 
knotted. The Virgin, too, must be of such an 
age, must be dressed in a certain way prescribed 


by the Inquisition ; even to show her feet is heresy. 
An art censorship was established by the Church, 
which appointed a Familiar of the Inquisition to 
watch the painters lest they should offend. " We 
give him commission, and charge him henceforth," 
we read, " that he take particular care to inspect 
and visit all paintings of sacred subjects which 
may stand in shops or in public places ; if he find 
anything to object to in them, he is to take the 
picture before the Lords of the Inquisition." 
And the penalty for ** making immodest paint- 
ings" was excommunication and exile, Stirling- 
Maxwell tells us, while a painter of Cordova, for 
instance, was imprisoned " for representing the 
Virgin in an embroidered petticoat ; and the sculp- 
tor Torrigiano died in the cells of the Inquisition 
for having broken in a gust of passion one of his 
own statues of the Virgin and Child." 

All through the fifteenth and sixteenth cen- 
turies, at any rate, the study of the nude, that 
" immodest painting," as we may suppose, was 
absolutely forbidden, and it was perhaps in thus 
cutting art off, as it were, from its chief inspira- 
tion and delight, that religion, the frantic and 
powerful superstition which in Spain passed for 
religion, really crippled art at its birth, from 
which calamity it seems only to have recovered 
for a moment in order to pronounce the beautiful 
secular name of Velasquez, before it died in the 
arms of a Church which had suddenly become 


merely sentimental. Thus the Spanish Church 
gathered all things to herself; and having already 
robbed one of the noblest peoples in Europe of 
its intellect and poisoned the springs of learning, 
she proceeded with an ignorant brutality, without 
precedent in Europe, to spoil art, too, of all its 
treasures, divorcing it from life, the which in its 
splendour and nobility she had ever feared and 
denounced, enslaving it and enforcing upon it 
in her service every menial task, setting it to 
illustrate every disgraceful and stupid lie, every 
abominable ugliness that here in Spain she has 
been able successfully to thrust upon the world. 
All power seems to have been given to her in 
heaven and in earth, nor has she hesitated to use 
it for her own advantage to the utmost, against 
humanity ; and now the day of Judgment is at 
the dawn, not before the great white Throne of 
God, but at the tribunal of man, who, remem- 
bering old and beloved words, passes his sen- 
tence : Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of 
the least of these my brethren, ye have done it 
unto me. 

While much of the nameless work that remains 
at Toledo, certain figures of saints that are still 
fading on the wall, was painted there perhaps in 
the twelfth century, it is really in Seville that the 
history of Spanish painting may be said to begin 
with the work of Juan Sanchez de Castro, the 
founder of the Seville school. Almost nothing 


has come down to us of the life of de Castro ; we 
know merely that he was painting in Seville be- 
tween 1454 and 15 16. The immense grotesque 
St. Cristobal that covers the wall near the door of 
the old church of St. Julian in Seville, ** A child's 
dream of a picture," as Mr. Arthur Symons calls 
it, in his illuminating study of the painters of Se- 
ville,^ is spoiled for us by the repainting of 1775. 
Many times the size of life, stretching from floor 
to ceiling, all that remains of the work of de Castro 
is the signature and the date 1484. In such smaller 
works of this painter as remain to us, in that panel, 
for instance, of the Madonna with St. Peter and 
St. Jerome now in the cathedral, we see the immense 
debt Spanish painting owed to Flemish art, its 
dependence upon it, as it were, for a means of 
expression. It is an art that is intent on telling 
a story in detail, that is dependent on a sort of 
realism, degrading beauty till it is lost in some- 
thing which seems to the majority to be the truth ; 
that cold and tortured Christ, for instance, who 
looks so indifferently, so scornfully almost, from 
many an old panel and altar-piece up and down 
Spain. Was He not scornful of the infidel whom 
He had just defeated under their very eyes, they 
seem to ask themselves ; was He not cruel too, 
ah, in the flames of the Inquisition, to the Jew, to 
the heretic, to all who would not believe in Him ? 

* " The Painters of Seville," by Arthur Symons : Fortnightly 
Review^ January 1901. 


In that fresco of the Virgin painted in the four- 
teenth century, in the Capilla de la Antigua, with 
so naive an apprehension of the beauty of decora- 
tion, of pattern almost, you may see the last of 
Byzantine art in Spain. Something has happened ; 
it is no longer possible to be satisfied with just 
that among a people who are beginning to pay the 
penalty for having understood Christianity as a 
mere fact to which they owe victories, material 
greatness, military success : it is possible to speak 
in beautiful symbols no longer; Christ and the 
saints must be realised, must appeal to the soul 
really through the torture, the emaciation of the 
body, their physical pitifulness as it were, since the 
strength and splendour of outward things, always 
so useful to the Church, were beginning to be 
necessary to the true understanding, it might seem, 
of a religion that was already almost a sort of 
patriotism. Those fires of the Inquisition had 
made man acquainted with cruelty, with physical 
torture, and so Jesus, who was hurt too, must 
have suflFered even more grievously, must have 
suffered the utmost, as they assure us in their 

Flemish art, discontented for once with its own 
mediocre flat country, has contrived for our delight 
a whole kingdom, as it were, full of exquisite 
details, in which men wind in companies between 
the hills, or are gathered together, or work alone 
in the fields or in a garden. Where in Spanish 


painting will you find the happiness of all that ? 
But it is this art, nevertheless, so full of emphasis, 
of detail, of a sort of realism that taught Spain 
the way to insist upon her own thoughts, that 
excused her from nothing, and that, while it often 
happened to be beautiful, was not really concerned 
with that at all, content if it might express what 
it had seen with its eyes, the eyes of the body, of 
the soul, without omitting anything whatsoever. 

Spanish art is thus not concerned with life in its 
delight, its splendid disaster, but with life shorn 
of everything but its force in a world haunted by 
the remembrance of Christ, of Christ who has been 
murdered. Something of all this, that was only 
completely expressed later, you may see perhaps 
in the Entombment by Pedro Sanchez, in a private 
collection in Seville, and in the Pieti of Juan 
Nunez, a pupil of de Castro, which may still be 
found in the cathedral. Even yet there lingers in 
these pictures a certain decorative beauty obscuring 
the mere horror of a scene that the thoughts of 
men, the words of those who loved Him, have 
made beautiful. And though this preoccupation 
with grief seems to be forgotten for a moment in 
another picture by Nufiez, where he has painted 
the archangels Michael and Gabriel gaily almost, 
their wings bright with strange and brilliant 
feathers, it is characteristic of the whole school 
of Spanish painting, from the time of de Castro 
to the time of Goya, with the exception of Velas- 


quez ; while Murillo*s art is a mere sentimental 
interlude, the one sincere insincerity in the history 
of Spanish painting, that, as Mr. Ricketts has 
pointed out, apart from the achievement of an 
exile such as Ribera, of a foreigner like Greco, and 
of the Court psunter Velasquez, was the work of 
peasants, patronised by the Church, whose priests 
were peasants, too, for the most part. 

Of the work of Alejo Fernandez, the most im- 
portant Spanish painter of this early period, much 
remains in the old churches of Seville. He was 
born, it might seem, in Cordova, and worked 
there in the cathedral, though three altar-pieces 
he painted ** of the Life of Christ " have been 
lost. He appears to have gone to Seville in 1 508, 
where his work in the Sacristia Alta, the Meeting 
of St. Joachim and St. Anna, the Birth and Puri- 
fication of the Virgin, may still be seen in the 

You may find much of his work in the Sacristia 
itself, an Adoration of the Kings, for instance ; 
and in St. Ana in Triana, the Virgen de la Rosa, 
certainly his most lovely picture, is still on the 
Trascoro. It is really an Italian influence you find 
in his pictures, something which recalls the delight 
of fifteenth-century Florentine work, spoiled of 
its perfection by a remembrance of Flemish work 
perhaps, that, as it might seem, was so unfortu- 
nately sombre, so full of realistic details, of details 
only just redeemed from realism, that first influ- 


enced Spanish painting. And yet in the Virgen 
de la Rosa, for instance, the mere strength of much 
of this Spanish work, its harshness, its self-denial, 
as it were, seems to be about to pass into just 
sweetness, in the sumptuously dressed Madonna, 
who so simply, so naturally almost, holds out a 
white rose for the delight of a little child, while 
two angels a little embarrassed lean on the arms of 
her throne. It is in this picture, perhaps, that 
you may see the first hint of the Renaissance ; and 
even as the cathedral of Seville seems to sum up 
in itself that ambiguous period of belated medias- 
valism that is about to be lost in the modern 
world, so the work of Alejo Fernandez, much of 
it painted for that great church, reminds you of 
the old Gothic work that had gone before it, 
while it expresses simply enough, it may be, but 
with certainty nevertheless, the new Italian influ- 
ence that was just then drawing upon Spain. 

If the work of Pedro de Campana, that Dutch- 
man whose real name was Kempeneer, seems to 
come to nothing, to be a false dawn, as it were, 
that foresees nevertheless the marvellous work of 
Ribera, it is in Luis de Vargas, born in Seville in 
1 502, that we find a Spaniard really for the first time 
submitting himself to the Italian influence, to the 
influence of Raphael. His work, as we may see 
it to-day in the cathedral, or in the convent of the 
Misericordia, is frankly Raphaelesque, and yet full 
of I know not what fervour and religious exalta- 


tion, so that we are not surprised to learn that he 
scourged himself, and that by his bedside stood 
a coffin in which he often laid himself down to 
meditate upon death. In his portrait of Contre- 
ras in the cathedral you find a certain Flemish 
realism still, an insistence upon detail, a minute 
northern work full of character and sincerity. 
Perhaps it is just that sincerity which he lost 
under the influence of Raphael ; certainly in La 
Gamba, for instance, the Temporal Generation of 
Jesus Christ, something affirmative seems to have 
been lost in a composition full of an uncertain 
futile gesticulation. It is not that he does not 
mean what he says with so much over-emphasis, 
but that he has felt it not in itself, but by means 
of the emotion of another, and because another 
has told him of it. 

It is in Morales that we come upon Spanish 
painting at last expressing itself, not in any 
collaboration with Fleming or Italian, but origi- 
nally and almost without an accent. Luis de 
Morales was born in Badajoz about the year 
1509 ; he died in his native city in 1586, having 
lived there all his life, save for a short visit to 
Madrid in IC64, when he was past fifty years of 
age. Who his masters may have been in that 
far-away city we do not know, only we seem to 
discern in his work, under the laboured, slow 
craftsmanship of the early Flemings, a sort of pre- 
occupation with an art so living and full of energy 


as the work of Michelangelo. And yet it is not 
anything passionate that is expressed in Morales' 
pictures, but a melancholy and sorrow almost too 
brutal to be borne — over which he has brooded 
until they have become a sort of madness. El 
Divino Morales, the Spaniards call him, and in- 
deed his pictures are concerned with nothing but 
religion. In looking at his work, which is like a 
series of terrible and distracting illustrations of 
the Via Crucis; the Ecce Homo, the Christ at 
the Column, the Pieti, the Virgin of Sorrows, for 
instance ; we seem to understand that here is the 
first painter of the Spanish school, a man who was 
concerned only with the most poignant and bitter 
memories of the life of Christ and the Blessed 
Virgin, as unconcerned with life as a monk might 
be, solitary in the immense cell that is the land- 
scape of Estremadura, shut in from the world 
by league after league of desolate pasture, where 
there is nothing but sheep and goats. And while 
in some of his pictures, in the Presentation of the 
Virgin, now in the Prado, for instance, a certain 
sweetness has overwhelmed for a moment the 
sorrow that he never really forgets; in those 
sixteen works that still remain, neglected and 
dirty, in the church of Arroyo del Puerco in 
Estremadura, the lamentable agony of Christ and 
the Virgin is scarcely forgotten for a moment, and 
we are face to face with a genuine and sincere 
expression of Spanish art at last, its pessimism, its 


pre-occupation as it were with religion, with that 
fierce unforgiving religion which still desired to 
avenge Christ upon those who did not believe in 

In Juan de las Roelas — el Clerigo — the parson, 
born at Seville in 1558, you may see very clearly 
how little Spain was able to understand the art of 
Venice. Just as she had failed to understand the 
art of Raphael and the Michelangelo, so she failed 
to learn anything from the Bellini ; only here her 
failure seems to have been more lamentable. Roelas 
is a man of a certain sensitiveness for art, only he 
is incapable of any creative effort whatsoever, con- 
tent if he may translate the soft warm colours of 
Venice, as far as he dare, into the terms of an art 
which has already suffered every violation. A 
perfectly capable painter, you might think, and 
just there is his damnation, in that he is merely 
that and nothing more. 

All that old world, so fiercely mediaeval for so 

long, seems to be summed up in the work of 

Pacheco, in that book about painting in which he 

defines so narrowly, as we may think, the aims of 

art, and in the pictures of Zurbaran, where the 

passion of the middle age passes into a mere realism 

at last, tiresome and wholly without sincerity. 

Zurbaran has been called " All Spain," and though 

at first we may see but little that is characteristic 

of a people so reserved, so distinguished, so 

democratic in the work of a painter, who for Mr. 



Symons is just ** a passionate mediocrity," for Lord 
Leighton a painter without "fancy or imagina- 
tion/' he is, as it seems to me, just the expression 
of all that is common to the average Spaniard, as 
it were — ^his delight in actual things, his gloomi- 
ness, his contempt for mere beauty, his love of 
detail, expressed so wonderfully in the late Gothic 
work of his cathedrals, his love of spectacle and 
ceremony. Of all the Spanish painters Zurbaran 
alone seems to me to have been without individu- 
ality, to be merely the mouthpiece, as it were, of 
the majority, to have been content to be just that. 
Born in Estremadura in 1598, a peasant, as we 
might suppose, a rigid and well-trained servant of 
the Church, he is really at his best when painting 
ecclesiastics or monks, as in the Carthusian pictures 
in the Museo at Seville. In a picture of Christ 
crucified, now in the Museo, you have a dramatic, 
religious, orthodox, and realistic study that is not 
beautiful at all or sincere, but merely a religious 
picture painted, as he was expected to paint it, to 
impress the crowd. 

Of Murillo so much has been written by those 
who have loved him with enthusiasm, that I hesi- 
tate to speak of a man that I have not been able 
to love. But since an entire room has been devoted 
to his work in the Prado, and the Museo of 
Seville is full of his pictures, it may well be that 
I am mistaken, and that he is a great painter after 
all, and not merely a sincere, self-willed, and 


vulgar soul, stupidly sentimental, sensual so sen- 
timentally, as he has seemed to me. Actual obvious 
things seem to have overwhelmed him; he is 
delighted with the obviously pretty ways of angels, 
the physical loveliness, bountifully Spanish, of 
the Virgin, who even in this, too, has not dis- 
appointed the world that he seems to have found 
easily satisfied, full of superficial thankfulness. 
And thus, not without a certain southern tactful- 
ness, he becomes a realist for whom the visible 
world does not exist. He can create a sort of 
life, too, just for a moment, while you are look- 
ing, as it were, but afterwards you find the picture 
has escaped you. And he was content with just 
that ; he was always winning applause, his works 
are so full of a kind of superficial characterisation 
that the people loved them. When Velasquez 
told him, kindly enough, to go to Venice to 
study the great masters, he did not quite under- 
stand, was really incapable of understanding, so he 
returned to Seville, and continued to paint, over 
and over again, just the same things, in his three 

"How perfectly sweet Murillo always is," I 
heard an American lady say before one of his 
pictures in the Prado. Even an American could 
not say that before Titian, or Rembrandt, or 
Rubens, or Velasquez. But it is quite true. 
Murillo is always sweet, at all times, in every 
picture. And sometimes he is so moved by his 



own sweetness that he seems about to burst into 
tears. Emotion, yes, it is that which you will find 
in his work before anything else ; emotion neither 
profound nor simple, but continually radiant, 
ecstatic almost, a little confusing at first, because 
it is so sincere, so exactly what he could not but 
mean it to be. And at last we seem to discern 
the truth of the whole matter in just that con- 
tinual ecstasy. His work is without reserve, with- 
out any suggestion of intellect ; he has felt keenly 
but not profoundly very many emotions, very many 
thoughts, but they are always the thoughts of every 
one else, and there is not an idea in the whole of 
his work. There is no " fundamental brain work " 
in his pictures, he is always smiling, or tearful, or 
weeping, and so he has never a moment to think. 

It is thus, it seems to me, that Spanish art came 
to end in a kind of emotionalism, characteristic 
enough of Seville herself, which was ever the true 
home of art, such as it was, in Spain. 

It remained for El Greco, Ribera, and Velasquez 
to place Spanish painting among the great schools 
of European art, and it is their names that are 
to-day first in our minds when we speak of the 
Spanish school of painting. 






I. LUIS MORALES (l509?-I586) 
II. SANCHEZ COELLO (1515-I590) . 



IV. EL GRECO (1548-162 5) 

V. LUIS DB VARGAS (1502-I568) . 
VL JUAN DE LAS ROELAS (l558?-l625) 

I 5 76-1 656). 

Vin. FRANCISCO PACHECO (1571-1654) 
IX. VELASQUEZ (1599-1660) 
X. RIBERA (1588-1656) . 
XL ZURBARAN (1598-1662) 
XIL ALONSO CANO (160I-1667) 
Xin. MURILLO (1 61 8-1 682) 
XIV. GOYA (l 746-1828) 


INDEX ....•«. 










The Flower Girl (Jrom the painting by 

Murillo in the Duhoich Gallery) . . Frontispiece 


Virgin and Child ijram the painting by 

Morales in the National Gallery) . . To face i 

The Omelette Woman {from the painting by 
Velasquez in the Collection of Mr, Herbert 
Cook) 90 

Venus and the Mirror {from the painting 

by Velasquez in the National Gallery) . 132 

A Monk at Prayer {from the painting by Zur- 

bar an in the National GcUlery) . . . 182 

The Shepherd Boy {from the painting by 

Murillo in the National Gallery) . . 214 

Virgin and Child {from the painting by 

Murillo in the Wallace Collection) . . 246 

The Parasol {from the painting ty Gey a in the 

Prado Gallery^ Madrid) .... 264 


PietA. {Morales) 6 

Portrait of Prince Carlos. {Coello) . . 12 
Portrait of Princess Catarina Michela. 

{Coello^ 16 




Burial of Count d'Orgaz. {El Greco) . To face 

Portrait of the Artist's Son. (El Greco) 

View of Toledo. {El Greco) 

The Nativity. {Luis de Vargas) . 

Moses Drawing Water from the Rock. 

Portrait of Princess Clara Eugenia 
Daughter of Philip II. {Gonzales) 

View in the Gardens of the Villa Medici. 

The Forge of Vulcan : Detail. {Velasquez) 

The Count of Olivarez. {Velasquez) 

Antonio, the. English Dwarf. ( Velasquez) 

The Reunion. {Velasquez) . 

St. Peter. {Ribera) .... 

St. John the Baptist in the Desert. 

The Coronation of St. Joseph. {Zurbaran) 
The Miracle of St. Hugh. {Zurbaran) 
St. Agnes. {Alonso Cano) . 
The Infant Christ. {Murillo) . 
Peasant Boys. {MuriUo) . 
The Assumption of the Virgin. {Murillo) 
Mosca Cieca. {Goya) .... 
Two Etchings. {Goya) 









SJOMi; s OF 


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{1509?-! 586) 

In the reign of Philip II, in the middle of the 
sixteenth century, Castile produced many painters 
who were neither excelled in skill, nor have been 
eclipsed in fame, by the ablest of their Italian or 
Flemish rivals. 

First in age, and perhaps also in reputation, 
comes Luis Morales, upon whom the admiration 
of his country, or the devotional character of his 
works, has conferred the title of " the Divine." 
He is the first Spaniard whose genius and good 
fortune have obtained him a place amongst the 
great painters of Europe. Like many of those 
who have most strongly influenced the mind or 
taste of their age, he lived and laboured in 
obscurity, and the records of his life are meagre 
and contradictory. Born at Badajoz about 1509, 
he is absurdly said by Palomino * to have been a 

^ Palomino, voL iii. p. 384. 



pupil of Campana at Seville, a master who did not 
arrive in Spain till 1548. Cean Bermudez, with 
more probability, supposes him to have studied 
his art at Toledo, or Valladolid ; and he seems to 
have practised it for the greater part of his life 
in Estremadura, chiefly painting for churches, 
and for the oratories of private mansions. By 
a baptismal entry in the register of the Cathedral 
of Frexenal, a small town on the Andalusian 
border, it appears that he was residing there in 
November 1554, when his son Cristobal was 
baptized in that church, and that the name of 
his wife was Leonora de Chaves. In or shortly 
before 1564, he was commanded to repair to Court 
by Philip II, to paint some pictures for the newly 
founded monastery of the Escorial. Presenting 
himself in magnificent attire, little suited to his 
condition, his ostentation is said to have* dis- 
pleased the King, who at first ordered his dismissal, 
with a sum of money, but was mollified by the 
gallant painter's declaration that he had spent all 
he had in order to appear in a manner befitting" 
the dignity of his Majesty.^ He seems, however, 
to have painted dtiring his residence at Court only 
a single picture, " Christ going to Calvary," given 
by Philip to the Church of the Jeronymites, at 
Madrid ; nor did any work of his form part of 
the original decorations of the Escorial. After 
his return to Estremadura his fortunes began to 

^ Palomino, vol. i. p. 178. 



decline. As old age drew on he lost the steadi- 
ness of his handy so necessary in his profession ; 
his eyesight failed him ; and he fell into extreme 
poverty. By a writing, discovered by Cean 
Bermudez in the archives of the Githedral of 
Frexenal, we find him in February 1575 selling, for 
a hundred ducats, some vines which he possessed 
in the Vega of Merida. His wretchedness was 
somewhat relieved in 1 5 8 1 by the timely visit of 
the King to Badajoz, as he returned from taking 
possession of his newly acquired kingdom beyond 
the Guadiana. The poor, disabled painter, ap- 
pearing in the royal presence in a garb very 
different from that in which he had flourished at 
the Escorial, attracted the notice of Philip. ** You 
are very old. Morales," said he. " Yes, sire, and 
very poor," replied the artist. Turning to his 
treasurer, the King immediately ordered the old 
man a pension of two hundred ducats out of the 
crown rents of the city " for his dinner " ; when 
Morales interposed with the question, ** And for 
supper, sire ? " — a stroke of dexterous begging 
which Philip, being in a humour to be pleased, 
rewarded with another hundred ducats. ** Here 
may be seen," says Palomino, " the liberality of 
that great monarch and the discreet wit of the 
vassal in profiting by the occasion, and speaking 
at the right time, which is a great felicity." ^ 
Morales did not long enjoy the royal bounty, for 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 385. 


he died, five years afterwards, in 1586. Badajoz 
has done honour to the memory of its great 
painter by naming after him the street in which 
he lived. 

Morales was the first artist born and bred in 
Spain who invested the religious thought and 
feeling of his native land with the beauties of 
Italian expression. Pure and graceful in design, 
and rich in the harmonies of colour, his works 
might have been painted in the schools of Rome, 
amongst the models of ancient art and in the 
inspiring companionship of Raphael and Fra 
Bastiano. But as pictures by the great foreign 
masters were rarely to be met with out of the 
royal collections, it is probable that his acquaint- 
ance with the creations of Italian art began and 
ended with his short residence at Court, when his 
style was doubtless as mature as his age. He may, 
indeed, have benefited in his youth by the instruc- 
tions of travelled artists, and may have been 
numbered amongst the scholars of Berruguete. 
Nothing, however, is certain, except that he far 
excelled any painter who could possibly have 
been his instructor. He stands, therefore, in art 
amongst the few of whom it can be said that 


" was author of himself, 
And knew no other kin." 

He discovered for himself many of the secrets of 
his craft, and triumphed over its difficulties by the 


mere force of genius. At the distance of three 
centuries we may still regret that his noble pencil, 
not excelled at the Escorial and not unworthy 
of the Vatican, should have been doomed to 
ill-requited and inglorious toil in the wilds of 

The subjects of Morales are always devotional, 
and those few by which he is known out of Spain 
generally of a doleful cast. It is not, however, 
with the ghastly sufferings of the body that, like 
Spagnoletto, he chiefly deals, but with the nobler 
sorrows of the soul. The Virgin whom he offers 
to the contemplation of the pious is never the 
fair young mother, smiling on the beauty of her 
Babe divine, but the drooping Mater Dolorosa, 
wan and weary with unutterable anguish. His 
Christ is in every feature * * the Man of Sorrows 
and acquainted with grief" wrung with the 
agonies of the garden, or bearing on His brow the 
damps and paleness of death. Here the prostra- 
tion of physical force and the wasting frame is 
drawn with terrible truth, as if Morales had 
groped his way into the vaults of the Inquisition, 
and there chosen for a model some lean heretic 
Carthusian (if such there were) writhing in the 
grasp of the tormentor. Our Lord fainting under 
His Cross was a theme which often engaged his 
pencil and finely displayed his powers. His con- 
ception of this sublime subject recalled to the 
recollection of Cumberland Raphael's famous 


** Spasimo," * and his execution the manner of Da 
Vinci. The Louvre possesses a very fine picture 
of this kind * by his hand, in which the head of 
the Saviour much resembles that striking head of 
** Christ with the Crown of Thorns " in the Prado 
Gallery ^ — perhaps the finest of all his works for 
richness of colour and intensity of feeling. So 
few of his larger works have found their way out 
of his native province that it has been said that he 
never painted a full-length figure. This, how- 
ever, is disproved by his ** Crucifixion," overlooked 
by the French in stripping the Cathedral of 
Badajoz'^and still more by the altars of the once 
proud temple of the military monks at Alcantara, 
and of the village church of Arroyo del Puerco, 
a desolate hamlet on the road from Alcantara 
to Trusdllo. The first of these contains a St. 
Michael and St. John, and other pictures by 
Morales ; the second, sixteen of his grandest 
works, which, though noticed in the Dictionary 
of Cean Bermudez— Soult's hand-book for Spain 
— escaped the keen glance and iron grip of 
that picture-pilfering commander, whose troops 
long occupied the place. The best of them are 
the grand " Christ and Joseph of Arimathea," 
" St. John,*' and " Christ Bound" (three-quarter 
length), "Christ at the Column," and the 

' The Spasimo is not, however, in modern opinion, from 
Raphael's hand. QC Cumberland, "Anecdotes," vol. i. p. 76. 

* Louvre, No. 1707. 

• Prado, No. 847. 



" Descent from the Cross." Though chilled and 
dirty, they are at least pure, and uninjured either 
by care or neglect. **The Saviour's Circum- 
cision," in the Prado Gallery,^ though defective 
in composition and injured by the stiffiiess of some 
of the figures, is remarkable for the serene beauty 
of the female heads, especially of the taper- 
bearing maidens, who attend upon the Blessed 

The works of Morales were always painted on 
panel. The labour bestowed on their execution 
fully accounts for their scarcity. His pencil 
lingered on a head or on a fold of drapery with 
the fond and fastidious care of the early Floren- 
tine masters. His colouring, rich though sober, 
is sometimes cold and greyish, and in his full- 
length figures the drawing is too often incorrect. 
But the fine feeling of his countenance and the 
roundness of his forms give his works a charm 
which seldom belongs to those of his Spanish 

He had few disciples, and those few — amongst 
whom was his son, possibly the Cristobal whose 
birth has been recorded — ^werc mere feeble imita- 
tors of his style, who exaggerated his faults and 
were devoid of his inspiration. Their dismal 
Madonnas and chalky Ecce Homos have, how- 
ever, frequently been laid at his door, to the 
damage of his reputation. The best of the band 

» Prado, No. 849. 


was Juan Labrador, who chose a humbler walk of 
art, and painted fruit and flower peces, which 
were admired for their truth and brilliancy of 
colour, and their fresh-gathered leaves empearled 
with transparent dewdrops. 


(1 5 1 5-1 590) 

Alonso Sanchez Coello/ the first of the great 
Spanish portrait-painters, and the Velasquez of the 
Court of Philip II, has been erroneously called by 
several writers a Portuguese. Cean Bermudez, 
however, reclaims him for Spain, and on the 
authority of the heralds of Santiago, asserts that 
he was born at Benifayro, in Valencia, early in the 
sixteenth century. Nothing of his early history 
has been preserved, nor is it known where he 
acquired the rudiments of his art. His style, 
however, appears to have been formed on Italian 
models, and he left several careful and excellent 
copies of the works of Titian. In 1541 he was 
residing in Madrid, where he married Dona Luisa 
Reynalte. In 1552 he accompanied Anthony 
More to Lisbon, and there entered the service of 
the Infant Don Juan of Portugal. On the death 
of this prince he was recommended by his widow, 
the Spanish Infanta Juana, daughter of Charles V., 
to her brother Philip ; and returning to Spain, he 
became paintcr-in-ordinary to that monarch, on 
More*s hasty retreat from Madrid. There his 

^ Pacheco, p. 589, and Palomino, vol. i. p. 178 ; ii. p. 388. 



genius and address obtained for him a distin- 
guished position at Court; he enjoyed the full 
confidence of the King, and was usually in attend- 
ance on his person. Philip was wont to call him 
" his Portuguese Titian/' in allusion to his resi- 
dence at Lisbon ; and from any royal progress, in 
which the favourite painter did not accompany 
him, he would write to him as his " beloved son, 
Alonso Sanchez Coello." At Madrid, the artist 
was lodged in the treasury buildings contiguous 
to the palace, and connected with it by a private 
door, of which Philip kept a key, and by which 
he sometimes surprised him at table in the midst 
of his family. At other times, the King, loosely 
arrayed in a morning-gown, would steal softly into 
the studio, and laying his hand on the painter's 
shoulder, compel him to remain seated and pursue 
his labours whilst he looked on, or lounged over 
other pictures. These familiarities, more flatter- 
ing perhaps than agreeable, Sanchez Coello appears 
to have received with all due modesty, never for- 
getting, as was alleged of More, the awful distance 
which separated even the most playful King of 
Spain and the Indies from his painter-in-ordinary. 
More fortunate than the Fleming, he was the 
favourite, not only of the monarch, but also of 
the Court and of the whole royal house and its 
allies. The Popes Gregory XIII and Sixtus V, 
Cardinal Alexander Farnese, and the Dukes of 
Florence and Savoy bestowed on him tokens of 


their admiration. ** Seventeen royal personages," 
says Pacheco, "honoured him with their esteem, 
and would sometimes recreate and refresh them- 
selves under his roof, with his wife and children." 
His table was never without some nobleman or 
worshipful gentleman for a guest ; and the Infant 
Don Carlos, the Archbishops of Toledo and 
Seville, Cardinal Granvelle, and Don Juan of 
Austria, the hero of Lepanto, were amongst his 
familiar friends. The two large courtyards of his 
house were often thronged with the horses, litters, 
coaches and chairs of the nobility and the ambassa- 
dors. To maintain this expensive hospitality, his 
pencil must have commanded a noble revenue. 
At his death in 1590, according to Palomino, the 
75th year of his age, he left a fortune of 55,000 
ducats, part of which went to endow an hospital 
for orphans at Valladolid. 

An anecdote related by Porreno,^ the biographer 
of Philip II, shows how high the artist stood in 
the estimation of the Court. Don Diego de 
Cordoba, chancing to see exposed for sale some 
wretched portraits of the King, in a fit of loyal 
indignation rushed into the royal presence, and 
besought his Majesty to follow the example of 
Alexander the Great, and ** grant to Alonso 
Sanchez, or some other famous painter, the ex- 
clusive right of depicting his gracious counte- 
nance." " Let the poor daubsters live," said the 

* Porreno, Dichosy Hechasy p. 329, 


King, " so long as they misrepresent our faces, 
and not our behaviour." Lope de Vega, who, 
amongst the myriad subjects of his fluent pen, 
frequently sang the praises of painting and of its 
professors, has given an honourable place in the 
ninth silva of his *' Laurel de Apolo " to 

" d Espanol Prothogenes famoso 
£1 noble Alonso Sanchez, que envidioso 
Dejard al mas antiguo y celebrado 
De quien hoy ha quedado 
Horando su memoria 
Etemos quadros de divina historia." 

(The noble, fam'd Prothogenes of Spain, 
Alonso Sanchez, from whose hand remain 
Pictures, the masters most renown'd of old 
With looks of envious wonder might behold, 
Eternal scenes of history divine. 
Wherein for aye his memory shall shine.) 

Amongst the disciples of this Spanish Protho- 
genes was his daughter Dofia Isabel, born in 1564, 
in her childhood the playmate of the Infantes and 
Infantas of Spain, and, in after life, equally dis- 
tinguished as a painter and musician. She married 
Don Francisco de Herrera y Saavedra, Regidor of 
Madrid and Knight of Santiago, by whom she had 
a son, Don Antonio, likewise a member of that 
order. She died, like her father, at Madrid, in 
16 12, and was buried in her husband's family 
chapel in the Church of San Juan. 

Sanchez Coello almost rivals Titian himself in 




the number of royal and noble personages whose 
favour he enjoyed, and whose countenances he 
delineated. In 1582 he executed, for the hall of 
portraits at the Prado, no less than ten pieces, 
amongst which were an emperor, a queen, and 
five archdukes, infantas, and royal princes. He 
painted the King many times, both on foot and on 
horseback, and in every variety of costume. But 
time, which so frequently avenges the victims, and 
persecutes the favourites, of fortune, has dealt 
very hardly with his works, most of which perished 
in the flames of the Prado and the Alcazar of 
Madrid. Of his many portraits of Philip II, the 
Prado gallery does not possess one. Sufficient 
specimens, however, of his powers exist there to 
vindicate his fame. His portrdts of the Infant 
Don Carlos and his half-sister Isabella Clara 
Eugenia are fine works of art,]| and no less valu- 
able, from the impress of fidelity which they bear, 
as illustrations of history. In Carlos we find little 
to heighten the pathos of his story ; and, indeed, 
the pencil of Coello, like the prose of the his- 
torian, furnishes a strong contrast to the touch- 
ing poetry of Schiller. The unhappy prince 
appears in his seventeenth or eighteenth year, 
and with the pallid features of his father, he has 
also his cold grey eye, and suspicious, dissatisfied 
expression. Both the head and the dress — a 
cloth of gold doublet, short, furred mantle, 

^ Prado, Nos. 1032, 1033. 


birretta, and trunk hose — recall Titian's early 
portraits of Philip. The hands, of which one 
rests on the sword-hilt, the other on his hip, 
are delicately shaped and finely painted. The 
Infanta Isabella — afterwards that resolute Arch- 
duchess whose linen, unchanged during the three 
years' siege of Ostend, gave the name to the tawny 
tint, still known to French dyers and grooms as 
the ** couleur Isabelle " — seems about the same age 
as her brother. As she was only two years old 
at the time of his death, her portrait must have 
been painted many years after its companion. 
Her countenance, both in features and expres- 
sion, strongly resembles her father's, who loved 
her above all his other children, and spoke of her 
on his deathbed as "the light and mirror of his 
eyes'*; and her swarthy complexion somewhat 
justifies the sarcasms of Pierre Leroy, and the 
Huguenot wits in the Satyre Minippie. These 
hereditary peculiarities are far too strong for 
beauty, even ** in the April of her prime " ; her 
face, indeed, appears to better advantage when in- 
vested with the dignity of matronly years on the 
canvas of her friend and counsellor Rubens, or 
still later, when she had exchanged the weeds 
of a widow for those of a Chanoinesse^ and sat 
for her portrait to Vandyck. But though in 
neither of these royal portraits was Sanchez 
G)ello fortunate in his subject, they, on that 
account, perhaps, the more display his masterly 


skill. He has supplied the place of beauty, as far 
as possible, by something little less winning, and 
far more difficult to be caught and described — 
that air of refinement and repose which belongs 
to gentle blood and delicate nurture. To the 
graceful design and fine colouring of these pic- 
tures Titian himself could hardly have added any- 
thing, beyond a softer outline and somewhat more 
roundness of form. Among the master's other 
portraits in this royal collection, a picture of the 
heroine of Ostend and her sister ^ deserves notice, 
and likewise that of Queen Isabel of the Peace, 
to whose sweet face he has hardly done justice, 
but whose black dress is magnificent, and her 
jewellery, especially the knots of pearls at the 
opening of the robe, worthy the imitation of the 
most tasteful and sumptuous of queens. The 
student of history will also look with interest on 
the well-painted head of a dark, handsome, bright- 
eyed man, wearing a small black cap and white 
plume, and the cross of Santiago on his breast ; * 
for it is the gay, ambitious, intriguing, banquet- 
giving, irresistible but unfortunate, Antonio Perez, 
the Bolingbroke of Gistile. 

In 1 570 the Court portrait painter was employed 
with Diego de Urbina to execute the paintings for 
the decoration of the triumphal arches under which 
Dofia Ana of Austria passed into the capital of 
her hoary uncle and bridegroom. Notwithstanding 

^ Prado, No. 1034. ' Prado, No. 1039. 


his avocations in the palace, he found time to 
paint, between 1574 and 1577, for the parish 
church of Espinar, a village in the territory of 
Segovia, nine pictures for the high altar» with the 
gilding and adornment of which he was also en- 
trusted. For these works, and for a curtain or 
architectural drop-scene with which the altar was 
veiled during the two last weeks of Lent, he was 
paid 3350 ducats. In 1 5 80 he executed a large com- 
position of the Martyrdom of St. Sebastian for 
the Church of St. Jerome, at Madrid, where it was 
seen by Cumberland,^who praises its "great majesty 
of design, bold relief, and strong masterly expres- 
sion.** For the Escorial he painted, by the King's 
desire, in 1582, five altar pictures, each contain- 
ing a pair of saints, and likewise an excellent por- 
trait of his friend. Father Siguenza, the historian 
of the order of St. Jerome, which has been well 
engraved by Fernando Selma. In 1 5 8 5 he painted a 
portrait of Ignatius Loyola, from waxen casts taken 
from the dead body twenty-nine years before, and 
from the recollections of Father Ribadeneyra, the 
hagiologist, which was reckoned the best represen- 
tation ever made of the stern and melancholy coun- 
tenance of the great first Jesuit. The fate of this 
interesting picture is not known ; but it may have 
been the original of that striking portrait which 
hangs in the church of San Miguel at Seville. 
In the Royal Gallery of Madrid there is one fair 

* Cumberland, "Anecdotes," vol. i. p. 39. 

I » 


specimen of Sanchez Coello's powers of treating 
sacred subjects, in his " Marriage of St. Catherine." ^ 
The composition and colouring are good ; and 
although the Divine Babe is more like a small 
man than a child, and His mystical bride unhap- 
pily resembles an Austrian Infanta, these defects 
are atoned for by the exceeding grace and beauty 
of Mary and her attendant angels. The pic- 
ture is painted on cork, and is signed, ** Alonsvs 
Santivs F." 

Sanchez Coello had a number of scholars, of 
whom Pantoja de la Cruz was the most famous. 
Cristobal Lopez became painter to King John III 
of Portugal, from whom he received the order 
of Aviz ; and, after having executed many por- 
traits of that prince and his family, and some good 
pictures for the chapel royal at Belem, died at 
Lisbon in 1594.^ Juan de Urbina is said to have 
painted with reputation at the Escorial ; none of 
his works, however, have been preserved to our 
times, and his name lives only in books and in the 
verse of Lope de Vega, who calls him "Generoso 
Urbina," and laments his death as a heavy loss to 
his royal patron — 

" Al sol del mundo, al immortal Felipe." 

* Prado, No. 104 1. 

* Palomino, vol. iii. p. 363, says 1570, apparently inexacdy. 





Juan Fernandez Navarrete was an artist 
whose genius was no less remarkable than his 
infirmities, and whose name — ^El Mudo, the dumb 
painter — is as familiar to Europe as his works 
are unknown. Born in 1526, at Logrono, of re- 
spectable — Palomino ^ says noble — parents, he was 
attacked in his third year by an acute disorder, 
which deprived him of the sense of hearing, and 
consequently of the faculty of speech. Cut off 
from the usual channels of converse, and living 
a century before his countryman, Bonet, had in- 
vented the art of speaking on the fingers, he was 
compelled to express his wants and his thoughts 
by rough sketches in chalk or charcoal — a practice 
in which he early displayed great readiness of 
hand, and learned to draw as other children learn 
to speak. Taking advantage of this bent of his 
inclination, his father placed him in a neighbour- 
ing monastery of Jeronymites at Estrella, under 
the care of Fray Vicente de Santo Domingo, one 
of the fraternity, who had acquired some know- 
ledge of painting at Toledo, and who left behind 

^ Palomino, torn. iii. p. 370. 


him a few pictures at Estrella, and in the convent 
of Santa Catalina, at Talavera de la Reyna, where 
he died. This worthy monk, after teaching him 
all that he himself knew, advised his parents 
to send him for further improvement to Italy, 
whither El Mudo, as he was called, accordingly 
went while still a stripling. It is probable that 
he remained there several years ; he visited Flor- 
ence, Rome, Naples, and Milan, and is said to 
have studied for a considerable time in the school 
of Titian, at Venice. It was, perhaps, at Rome 
or Milan that he was known to Pelegrino Tibaldi, 
who used to remark, when admiring, many years 
afterwards. El Mudo's works at the Escorial, 
that in Italy he painted nothing worthy of much 
notice. He had acquired, however, sufficient 
reputation to attract the notice of Don Luis 
Manrique, Grand Almoner to the King of Spain, 
through whose recommendation he was called to 
Madrid, and on the 6th March 1568 appointed 
painter to his Majesty, with a yearly allowance 
of 200 ducats besides the price of his work. As 
a specimen of his abilities, he brought with him 
a small picture on the subject of "Our Lord's 
Baptism *' — " admirably painted," says Cean Ber- 
mudez, "though in a style different from that 
which he afterwards followed," which greatly 
pleased the King, and became in due time an 
ornament of the Prior's cell in the Escorial.^ 

^ Now in the Prado, No. 905. 


He was first employed there to paint on the 
folding doors of an altar some figures of prophets 
in black and white, and to make a copy of a 
large and excellent picture of the ** Crucifixion," 
which was highly approved by the King, who 
ordered it to be placed in the royal chapel, in 
the wood of Segovia. During the first three 
years of his engagement, his health being feeble, 
he was permitted to reside at Logrono. There 
he found time to paint for his early friends, the 
monks of Estella, four noble pictures, of one of 
which, representing St. Michael, Cean Bermudez 
remarks that it was the finest figure of that 
Archangel in Castile. He returned in 1571 to 
the Escorial, bringing with him four pictures — 
"The Assumption of the Virgin," "The Mar- 
tyrdom of St. James the Great," " St. Philip," 
and a ** Repenting St. Jerome." Being dissatis- 
fied with the ** Assumption," in which he thought 
the Blessed Mary was lost among the crowd of 
angels, he wished to cancel it, but this the King 
would not permit. The heads of the Virgin and 
one of the apostles standing below in the fore- 
ground were portraits of the painter's parents, 
his mother being remarkable for her beauty. In 
the ** Martyrdom" it is said that he revenged 
himself for some affront received from Santoyo, 
the royal secretary, by bestowing the face of that 
minister on one of the tormentors of the apostle ; 
and that, notwithstanding Santoyo's complaints, 


Philip would not sufFer the picture to be altered, 
excusing himself on the ground of its great ex- 
cellence.^ According to another account, however, 
the original of the executioner was merely a young 
official of Logrono. For these pictures El Mudo 
was paid 500 ducats, and they were placed in the 
Sacristy of the Escorial. He passed the next five 
years at Madrid, the buildings of the Escorial not 
being in sufficient order to receive artists. His 
pencil seems to have been less rapid than those of 
some of his contemporaries, or his labours must 
have been interrupted by ill health; for in 1575 
he had completed only four new works — the 
" Nativity of Our Lord,'' ** Christ scourged at the 
Column," the *' Holy Family," and "St. John 
writing the Apocalypse," for which he received 
800 ducats. Of these works, the last perished 
by fire, with the "St. Philip" and "Assump- 
tion" above mentioned. The "Nativity" was 
remarkable for the skill with which El Mudo has 
introduced three difiFerent lights, proceeding from 
the body of the Divine Infant — rafter the fashion 
first set by Correggio in his famous *'Notte," 
now at Dresden — the glory above, and a candle 
held by St. Joseph. The adoring shepherds also 
were so finely treated that Tibaldi never looked 
at the picture without exclaiming, " O ! i belli 
pastori!" In the "Holy Family" the heads 
were noble and expressive, and a cat and dog in 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 371. 


the foreground stood spitting and snarling over 
a bone with laughable truth and spirit. "The 
Scourging of Christ '* was admirable for the skilful 
fore-shortening of our Lord's figure, of which a 
front view was given.^ 

In 1576, El Mudo painted one of his most 
celebrated works, "Abraham receiving the three 
Angels," which was hung over an altar in the 
entrance-hall of the convent, where strangers were 
received by the fathers. The figures were of life- 
size; beneath a leafy tree the Patriarch bowed 
himself to the ground, entreating the travellers 
to repose themselves from the noontide heat and 
taste of his cheer; the three angels, symbolis- 
ing the persons of the most Holy Trinity, and 
all clad in the same fashion, smiled benignly with 
countenances of heavenly beauty and accepted 
his proffered hospitality ; and in the background, 
half concealed by the tent-door, was seen the 
laughing countenance of ancient Sarah. "This 
picture, so appropriate to the place it fills," 
says Fray Andres Ximenes, " though the first of 
the master's works that usually meets the eye, 
might for its excellence be viewed the last, and is 
well worth coming many a league to see." El 
Mudo was paid 500 ducats for it. In the August 
of the same year he undertook to paint thirty-two 

I «* The Adoration of the Shepherds," the " Nativity," a St 
Jerome, " Christ appearing to the Virgin," the "Execution of 
St. James," a St Peter and St Andrew, and eight figures of 
saints in the Coro Alto are to-day at the Escorial. 


large pictures for the side altars of the church.^ 
The contract between him and the Prior Julian 
de Tricio, curious for its minuteness, is printed 
at full length by Cean Bermudez. The price 
agreed on was 200 ducats for each painting, each 
being executed on a single piece of canvas, and 
the whole were to be finished in four years. It 
was stipulated that if any saint were introduced 
more than once in the series, he should in all cases 
appear with the same features and drapery ; and 
that wherever an authentic portrait was to be had, 
it was to be scrupulously copied. All accessories 
that had no reference to devotion were excluded, 
and dogs and cats were expressly forbidden, 
probably in allusion to the excellent, but inde- 
corous, episode in the " Holy Family." Of these 
pictures the artist unhappily lived to finish only 

Towards the close of 1578 his health began 
to decline, and he vainly sought for relief in ex- 
cursions to Segovia and some of the neighbour- 
ing villages. In February 1579 he removed to 
Toledo, where he died on the 28th of March, 
in the fifty-third year of his age. Shortly before 
his death he confessed himself three times to the 
curate of the parish of San Vicente by means of 
signs, which that churchman declared were as 
intelligible as speech. Calling for pen and paper, 

^ As we have seen, eight of these remain at the Escorial ; 
two others, a St. Peter and a St. Paul, are in the Prado, 
Nos. 906, 907. 


he then disposed of his modest gains in a testa- 
ment which is curious and short enough to be 
given entire : — 

" Jesus, Nuestra Senora 
Albacea, Nicolas de Vergara 
Anima, Pobres, 200 ducados. 
Hermano frayle, 200 ducados ; Pobres 
Hija monja, 600 ducados. 
Estrella, Hennanos, 500 ducados; Misa. 
Marfa Fernandez, 100 ducados. 
Padre, Misa 200 ducados. 
Mozo, 40 ducados. — ^Juan Fernandez." 

Then follows an explanation of this concise 
will, supplied by the witnesses. The first and 
second clauses imply that he died in the Catholic 
faith, leaving Vergara for his executor ; the third 
provides for the expenses of his burial, and for 
alms on the occasion ; the fourth gives the sum 
named to his brother Fray Bautista, for his life, 
and afterwards to the poor of an hospital at 
Logrono ; the fifth allots a dowry to his natural 
daughter, a child of four years old, at Segovia, 
and directs that she is to take the veil, '^ and that 
as early as possible,'* as the testator contrived to 
say to the curate, Luis Hurtado, " there being no 
hope of a girl of her condition getting married 
with so slender a portion " ; the sixth remembers 
his old friends the Jeronymites at Estrella, on 
condition of their remembering him in their 
masses, and giving a resting-place to his bones 


within their walls ; the seventh alludes to a 
married cousin living at Logrono; the eighth 
establishes masses for the souls of his parents in 
the family chapel at Logrofio ; and the ninth is 
a bequest to one Adam Mimoso, who had been 
his serving man for a year and a half. He was 
buried at Toledo, in the church of San Juan de 
los Reyes ; and although Cean Bermudez cites an 
agreement entered into between Dona Catalina 
Ximenes and Diego Fernandez, mother and brother 
of El Mudo, and the prior and monks of Estrella 
— that his remains should be brought thither at 
the cost of the former, received at the door of 
the court with the cross by the latter, and in- 
terred in the church at the foot of the steps 
leading to the high altar, and that on the payment 
to the convent of 300 ducats the office of the 
dead should be sung for his soul every St, John 
Baptist's Day, it does not appear that the removal 
of his bones ever took place. 

"El Mudo," says Cean Bermudez, **was a 
man of uncommon talent, and in no ordinary 
degree versed in sacred and profane history and 
in mythology. He read and wrote, played at 
cards, and expressed his meaning by signs with 
singular clearness, to the admiration of all who 
conversed with him." When Titian's celebrated 
picture of the "Last Supper" arrived at the 
Escorial, it was found to be too large for its 
destined place in the Refectory. The King 


having ordered it to be cut, El Mudo mani- 
fested a lively indignation , and by means of signs 
offered, at the risk of his head, in six months to 
finish an exact copy of it, of the required size ; 
at the same time making the sign of the cross 
on his breast, to signify that he expected an 
order of knighthood as the reward of doing in 
six months what had cost Titian the labour of 
seven years. Philip was, however, too impatient 
to wait for a copy, and the canvas of Titian, 
to the great grief of his scholar, was forthwith 
submitted to most sacrilegious shears. Indeed, 
it was not until Navarrete had gone to the 
tomb that the King fully understood his worth. 
When, however, his foreign Zuccaros, engaged 
at immense salaries, began to cover the walls of 
the Escorial with some very bad paintings, he 
became sensible that a far finer hand lay cold 
at Toledo, and frequently declared that amongst 
all his Italian artists there was none that could 
equal his dumb Spaniard. 

El Mudo imitated with success many of the 
chief beauties of his Venetian master, and for his 
splendid colouring alone well deserved his title of 
** the Spanish Titian." His works have a freedom 
and boldness of design that belonged to none of 
his contemporaries of Castile; and it has been 
well remarked that he ** spoke by his pencil with 
the bravura of Rubens without his coarseness." 
Amongst the unfinished pictures found in his 


studio at his death were several portraits, of 
which those of the Duke of Medina Cell and 
Giovanni Andrea Doria were the most interesting, 
A beautiful head of a woman at Bowood, painted 
by El Mudo, and said to be that of Dofia Maria 
Pacheco, wife of Padilla, the ill-fated leader of 
the .malcontents at Toledo in 1522, is a gem 
even in the collection of Lord Lansdowne. Brown 
Castile never produced a lovelier face, nor a more 
delicately painted head ; but as a portrait, it must 
either be ideal or a copy, since the brave lady died 
two years before the painter's birth. Of his 
few pictures on this side the Pyrenees, "The 
Holy Family," in the private gallery of the Queen 
of Holland, also deserves notice : the Virgin and 
Babe are seated near a column, and St. Joseph 
appears behind, and the whole composition is 
full of grace and Venetian richness of colour. 
The saints and apostles who figure in eight of the 
side altars of the Escorial, his last works, are 
excellent examples of his style. Their grand and 
simple forms and noble heads, and their draperies 
falling in broad masses of rich warm colour, are 
worthy of the majestic temple which they adorn. 
Lope de Vega, in the Laurel de Apoloy laments 
for the death of El Mudo, whom he lauds as the 
Spanish artist best able to cope with Italian rivals. 
Of his works he says — 

" Ningun rostro pint6 que fuese mudo " — 
(No countenance he painted that was dumb.) 


a thought which he also expanded into this 
epigram : — 

'' No quiso el cielo que hablase, 
Porque con mi entendimiento 
Diese mayor sentimiento 
A las cosas que pintase 
Y tanta vida les di 
Con el pincel singular 
Que como no pude hablar 
Hice que hablasen por mi." 

(Speech heaven denied to him whose dumbness threw 
A deeper sense and charm o'er all he drew ; 
And, mute himself, his breathing pencil lent 
Canvas a voice, than mine more eloquent.) 



(i 548-1625) 

DoMENico Theotocopuli, painter, sculptor, and 
architect, more familiarly known as " the Greek " 
— El Griego or El Greca — holds a high place 
amongst the worthies of Toledo. Contemporary 
with him there were two other Greek artists in 
Spain — Pedro Serafin, a painter at Barcelona, and 
Nicolas de la Torre, a Candiote painter of illumi- 
nations, employed at the Escorial, each of whom 
was sometimes called El Griego. Of his early 
history nothing has been preserved, except the 
tradition that he studied in the school of Titian. 
Hence it is possible that he was born at Venice, of 
one of the Greek families who had taken refuge 
beneath St. Mark's wing from the sword of the 
Turk at the fall of Constantinople. He was 
bom, says Palomino, in 1 548 ; and it is possible 
that he may have been the son of a certain 
Domenico dalle Greche who engraved, in 1549, 
a drawing of Titian's representing " Pharaoh and 
his Host overthrown in the Red Sea '' ; or he may 
have been a native of Corfi, or one of the Greek 
islands, like his contemporary and fellow-painter, 
Antonio Vassilacchi; for, not unmindful of his 


race and language, he frequently inscribed his 
name in the Greek character on works painted in 
Castile. The first authentic notice of his life 
that remains to us is that he was residing in 
Toledo in 1577, when he began for the cathedral 
his great picture of " The Parting of our Lord's 
Raiment/' a work, still adorning the sacristy, on 
which he was employed for ten years, and which 
Cumberland thought worthy of the pencil of 
Titian. The august figure of the Saviour arrayed 
in a red robe occupies the centre of the canvas ; 
the head with its long dark locks is superb, and 
the noble and beautiful countenance seems to 
mourn for the madness of them who " knew not 
what they did " ; His right arm is folded on His 
bosom, seemingly unconscious of the rope which 
encircles His wrist, and is violently dragged 
downwards by two executioners in front. Around 
and behind Him appears a throng of priests and 
warriors, amongst whom the Greek himself figures 
as the Centurion in black armour. He has like- 
wise painted his beautiful daughter— distinguished 
by the white drapery on her head — as one of the 
three Maries in the foreground, at least if her 
portrait in the Louvre be authentic* In drawing 
and composition this picture is truly admirable ; 
and the colouring is, on the whole, rich and 
effective, although it is here and there laid on 
in that spotted, streaky manner which afterwards 

^ This picture is not by £1 Greco. 


became the great and prominent defect of El 
Greco's style. He likewise carved the retablo in 
which this picture once hung ; but, on the sacristy 
being rebuilt, it was removed, and the present 
marble retablo was erected in its place. For the 
painting he was paid by the chapter 1 19,000, and 
for the sculpture 200,600 maravedis. 

Whilst thus engaged in the service of the 
cathedral. El Greco received the royal commands 
to paint, for one of the altars of the Escorial 
church, a picture on the subject of St. Maurice 
and his Christian legion, who feared God rather 
than the Emperor Maximian, and preferred death 
to idolatry. Unluckily for the artist, it seems that 
his friends had been in the habit of commending 
his works by declaring that they might pass for 
those of Titian, a praise which by no means 
satisfied the Greek's ambitious soul, and only 
prompted him to invent a style altogether new 
and peculiar to himself. Proceeding on this 
principle he addressed himself to the Martyrdom 
of the pious soldiery with great diligence, and 
presently produced a picture, in an artistic point 
of view, little less extravagant and atrocious than 
the massacre which it recorded. The one might 
have disturbed the established ideas and opinions 
of the artists assembled at the Escorial almost as 
rudely as the other troubled the repose of the 
secluded Valais. Dry, hard, and harsh in colouring, 
the painting was full of strange and distracting 


flashes of light, utterly destructive of unity and 
breadth, nor did the admirable heads occurring 
here and there do much to counteract its general 
disagreeable effect. The King was greatly dis- 
appointed when he saw it ; he ordered the stipu- 
lated price, of which the amount has not been 
preserved, to be paid, but would not permit the 
picture to be hung in the church. It was there- 
fore degraded to a more obscure part of the 
building, and placed in the chapel of the college.^ 
EI Greco does not appear to have been in very 
flourishing circumstances when he began to work 
for his royal patron, for an order is extant, 
addressed by Philip II to the prior of the 
Escorial and dated the 25th of April 1580, 
authorising that dignitary to allow him a little 
money that he might provide himself with 
materials, and to furnish him with some of the 
finer colours, especially " ultramarine." Had he 
but adhered to his Titianesque style he might 
have obtained the post of King's painter, and 
found employment for life and a rich harvest of 
fame at the Escorial. 

The ill success of his experiment seems, for a 
time at least, to have led El Greco back to his 
earlier and better paths, for in 1 5 84 he painted, 
by order of Cardinal Archbishop Quiroga, a large 
picture, "The Burial of the Count of Orgaz," 
which is justly esteemed his masterpiece, and 

* This work is still at the Escorial. 



which the prelate presented to the Toledan 
church of Santo Tom6, where it still remains. 
The artist or lover of art who has once beheld it 
will never, as he rambles among the winding 
streets of the ancient city, pass the pretty brick 
belfry of that church — full of horse-shoe niches 
and Moorish reticulations — without turning aside 
to gaze upon its superb picture once more. 
Gonzalo Ruiz, Count of Orgaz, head of a house 
famous in romance, rebuilt the fabric of the 
church, and was in all respects so religious and 
gracious a grandee that when he was buried in 
1323, within these very walls, St. Stephen and 
St. Augustine came down from heaven and laid 
his body in the tomb with their own holy hands, 
an incident which forms the subject of the picture. 
St. Stephen, a dark-haired youth of noble counte- 
nance, and St. Augustine, a hoary old man wearing 
a mitre, both of them arrayed in rich pontifical 
vestments of golden tissue, support the dead 
count in their arms and gently lower him into 
the grave, shrouded, like a baron of Roslin, " in 
his iron panoply.*' Nothing can be finer than 
the execution and the contrast of these three 
heads ; never was the image of the peaceful death 
of " the just man " more happily conveyed than 
in the placid face and powerless form of the 
warrior; nor did Giorgione or Titian ever excel 
the splendid colouring of his black armour, rich 
with gold damaskeening. To the right of the 


picture, behind St. Stephen, kneels a fair boy in a 
dark dress, perhaps the son of the count ; beyond 
rises the stately form of a grey friar ; to the left, 
near St. Augustine, stand two priests in gorgeous 
vestments, holding, the one a book, and the other 
a taper. Behind this principal group appear the 
noble company of mourners, hidalgos and old 
Christians all, with olive faces and beards of 
formal cut, looking on with true Castilian gravity 
and phlegm, as if the transaction were an every- 
day occurrence. As they arc mostly portraits of 
noted personages, perhaps some of the originals 
did actually stand a few years later, with the like 
awe in their hearts and calm on their cheeks, in 
the royal presence chamber, when the news came 
to Court that the proud Armada of Spain had 
been vanquished by the galleys of Howard and 
cast away on the rocks of the Hebrides. The 
upper part of the picture represents a different 
scene, in a far inferior style — ^the soul of Gonzalo 
entering the heavenly mansion. Here El Greco's 
desire of avoiding all resemblance to Titian again 
proved too strong for his taste ; our Lord sits 
enthroned amongst clouds flat and sharp as the 
pasteboard clouds of the stage, and somewhat 
lower the Virgin, at whose feet kneels the 
emancipated spirit in the form of a naked man of 
a livid hue, and of a size so disproportionate to 
the heavenly host around him that he might be 
mistaken for some ungainly Goliath of Gath, or 


vanquished giant of romance. For this picture — 
the finest at Toledo, and notwithstanding its 
faults one of the noblest productions of the 
Castilian pencil — the painter was paid 2000 
crowns by the Archbishop. The story on which 
it is founded is told in the inscription on a black 
marble slab let into the wall beneath it. 

In the collection of the Academy of St. Ferdi- 
nand at Madrid there is a small repetition, per- 
haps the original sketch, of the " Burial of Orgaz," 
admirably painted, and perhaps more pleasing than 
the great picture, inasmuch as a great part of the 
celestial and defective portion is wanting. 

El Greco was, when he pleased, an admirable 
painter of portraits. He was eminently success- 
ful, in 1609, in taking the likeness of the poet, 
Fray Felix Hortensio Palavicino, who rewarded 
him with a laudatory sonnet, wherein he was 
compared to Prometheus. In the hospital of St. 
John Baptist at Toledo he has finely portrayed 
the mild features of Cardinal Tavera, which he 
must have copied from the work of some older 
artist. At lUescas, a town lying on the weary 
plain, midway between Madrid and Toledo, in 
the spacious church of the Hospital of Charity, 
where El Greco was architect and sculptor, he 
has left a good altar-piece representing ** S. Ilde- 
fonso" — a venerable man in a dark pontifical 
habit, writing at a table covered with red velvet 
— for which some worshipful Toledan canon may 


have served as a model. In the Royal Gallery at 
Madrid there are many of his portraits, most of 
them good, especially one — a dark, handsome 
man in armour, with a curious chain of gold and 
tri-colour silk round his neck — ^which Velasquez 
never excelled ; and that of the President Rodrigo 
Vasquez,^ the inexorable old man who stood by 
whilst his fallen rival, Antonio Perez, was tor- 
tured to the confessing point. 

El Greco has been described as an artist who 
displayed his great genius only at intervals. 
Strange to say, in his case, the critics cannot fix 
the epoch when his " early bad manner " gave 
way to his " good middle style," or when his 
pencil lost the charms of its prime ; for he painted 
well and ill by turns throughout his whole career. 
The disagreeable " St. Maurice " was executed be- 
tween the times when his two best works were 
commenced. The fine portraits of Tavera and 
Palavicino were painted in or about 1609. In 
fact, he sometimes painted heads that stood out 
from the canvas with the sober strength of Velas- 
quez's, and coloured figures and draperies with a 
splendour rivalling Titian. With all his faults, 
El Greco was a favourite artist in Spain, and his 
pictures were highly valued. For the church of 
Bayona, a village in the province of Segovia, he 
executed a series of paintings on the life of Mary 

^ Prado, No. 241. There are seven other male portraits 
there, viz., Nos. 238, 240, 242, 243, 244, 245, and 246. 



Magdalene, which were refused about the close of 
the seventeenth century to Cardinal Puertocarrero, 
although his Eminence offered to buy them for 
5000 crowns, and replace them with pictures by 
Luca Giordano, the famous and fashionable court 
artist of the day.^ 

Theotocopuli was much engaged as sculptor 
and architect. At Madrid he deagned, in 1590, 
the church of the Augustine's college, and carved 
the "abominable" retablo of the high altar; at 
Illescas he built, about 1 600, two churches — that 
of the Hospital of Charity, still existing, with its 
good classical altar, and that of the Franciscan 
friars, with the marble tombs and effigies of the 
Hinojosas, its founders, now demolished ; at 
Toledo, he gave the plan of the city hall, a solid, 
plain building of two stories, resting on Doric 
pillars and flanked with towers ; he carved, in 
1609, the retablos for the church of the St. John 
Baptist's Hospital; and in 161 1 he erected in 
the Cathedral, by order of the chapter, the cata- 
falque, or temporary monument for the celebration 
of funeral solemnities for Margaret of Austria, 
Queen of Philip III. 

Few artists were ever more unweariedly in- 
dustrious than El Greco, even in his old age. 
Never idle for a moment, he must have not a 
little astonished, by his indomitable energy, the 
slow and otiose Toledans amongst whom he lived. 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 426. 


Pachcco, who visited him in i6i i, relates that he 
showed him a large closet filled with the plaster 
models of his various sculptures, and a chamber 
full of the sketches of all his pictures. In the 
course of their talk El Greco declared his opinion 
that colouring was a more difficult part of the 
painter's art than drawing ; and that Michael 
Angelo, though a good professor, knew nothing 
of painting. Besides uttering these heresies, to 
the horror of the Sevillian, he explained and de- 
fended his own harsh and spotty style, avowing 
that it was his practice to retouch a picture till 
each mass of colour was distinct and separate from 
the rest, and asserting that it gave strength and 
character to the whole.^ But in spite of his 
eccentric style and opinions, the school of Theo- 
tocopuli produced Mayno, Tristan, and Orrcnte, 
who rank amongst the best Gistilian painters. 
He was a man of wit and some learning, and is 
said by Pacheco to have written on the three arts 
which he professed. His brother artists were 
perhaps more benefited, however, by his legal 
than by his literary eflForts; for he successfully 
resisted, in 1600, a tax attempted to be levied 
upon his works at lUescas, and obtained a decree 
against its exaction from the Council of State. 
Living to the reign of Philip IV, he saw the 
veteran painters of Castile vanquished at Court 
by a stripling from Andalusia; and he died at 

^ Pacheco, p. 242. 


Toledo in 1625, to the general sorrow of the 
city, and was buried in the Church of S. Barto- 
lome. His friend, the poet Luis de Gongora, 
celebrated his memory in the following fantastic 
sonnet, perhaps intended to be inscribed on his 
tomb : — 

^ Esta en fonna elegante 6 peregrino ! 
De p6rfido luciente dura Have, 
£1 pincel niega al mundo mas suave, 
Que did espiritu al leno, vida al lino. 

Su nombre, aun de mayor aliento digno 
Que en los clarines de la fama cabe, 
£1 campo ilustra de ese mirmol grave ; 
Ven^ralo, y prosigue tu camino. 

Yace el Griego : hered6 naturaleza 
Arte, y el arte estudio, iris colores 
Febo luces, sino sombras Morfeo. 

Tanta uma, d pesar de su dureza, 
Lagrimas beba y quantos suda olores 
Corteza funeral de drbol sabeo." 

(Stranger ! beneath this polish'd porphyry stone, 
Lock'd from the world, the sweetest pencil lies 
That e'er could witch thee with resplendent dyes 
O'er breathing wood or living canvas thrown ; 

Its name, all worthy of the loudest tone 
That far and wide from Fame's clear clarion flies, 
The field of this proud marble glorifies ; 
Pay at this shrine thy homage and pass on. 

Here lies the Greek ; to nature all his art 
Leaving, to art his lore, to Iris hues, 
To Phoebus lights, to Morpheus shadows deep ; 

Let his great urn thy tear-drops as they start. 
Despite its hardness, drink, and funeral dews 
Which, from their bark, Sabean forests weep.) 


Luis Tristan, his pupil, was born in 1586, in the 
neighbourhood of Toledo ; and, entering the school 
of El Greco, in that city, he early became remark- 
able for the genius which he displayed for paint- 
ing. Eschewing the evil and choosing the good 
in his eccentric master's style, his works commended 
themselves to the taste of El Greco, who preferred 
him to all his other disciples, and frequently handed 
over to him commissions which he himself was not 
disposed to undertake. One of these was a " Last 
Supper," for the refectory of the Jeronymite 
monastery of La Sisla, at Toledo, a work which 
Tristan finished to the full satisfaction of the 
fathers. But the price which he demanded, 200 
ducats, seeming exorbitant to these frugal monks, 
they referred the matter to the decision of El 
Greco. The old master, being somewhat infirm, 
took coach and repaired to the convent; and 
having examined the picture with great attention, 
he turned to his scholar, and, shaking his crutch 
over his head, called him a rogue, and a disgrace 
to his profession. Here the Jeronymites inter- 
posed, excusing Tristan on account of his youth 
and inexperience, and his willingness to submit 
to the award of his master. ** Indeed," said the 
painter of the "Burial of Orgaz,*' **he is quite a 
novice, for he has asked only 200 ducats for a 
painting worth 500 ; let it therefore be rolled up, 
and carried to my house." Confounded by this 
unlooked-for proposal, and by the unexpected 


turn which the arbitration had taken, the friars 
were glad to agree with the young artist on his 
own terms. 

In 16 1 6, the thirtieth year of his age, Tristan 
painted the works which are generally esteemed 
his masterpieces — a series of pictures for the 
Church of Yepes, an ancient town, pleasantly 
situated on the tableland between Ocana and 
Toledo, amidst cornfields and olives, and vine- 
yards of which the white wine is famous amongst 
the harsh vintages of Castile. Although the 
French bugles often sounded within hearing of its 
walls, this huge Greco-Romano church still stands 
entire, with its heavy towers and its rich internal 
decorations. The retabh of the high altar is an 
elegant structure of the four orders, richly gilt, 
and adorned with wooden statues ; and in each of 
three of its stories are placed two large composi- 
tions of Tristan, illustrating passages in the life of 
the Saviour. Of these the lower pair are the 
"Adoration of the Shepherds," an excellent 
picture, full of life and rich colour, and the 
" Adoration of the Kings '* ; the second, " Christ 
at the Column,** and '* Christ bearing His Cross," 
in which the head of the Redeemer is not un- 
worthy of Morales ; but the handkerchief held by 
S. Veronica, and bearing the stamp of the divine 
countenance, produces an unpleasing effect ; and 
the third, the " Resurrection *' and *' Ascension " 
of our Lord. Besides these, the altar contains 


eight half-length pictures, by Tristan, of various 
saints, of whom St. Sebastian is, perhaps, the best ; 
but the effect of all is injured by the small size 
of their frames ; and on the pillars of the aisle, 
nearest to the high altar, hang two mitred 
saints, which, perhaps, are the work of the same 
pencil. These paintings are fine monuments of 
the genius of Tristan ; and they afford evidence 
of the excellent judgment with which he imitated 
the rich tones and bold handling of his master's 
better manner, and avoided the hard unblending 
streaks of colour, the narrow gleams of light, and 
the blue unhealthy flesh tints of his more extra- 
vagant productions. Their effect is, however, 
marred by the coarseness of his female heads; 
his Blessed Virgin by no means deserved to be 
hymned, as 

" Virgo gloriosa, 
Super omnes speciosa ; " 

nor will any of his women bear comparison with 
the creations of El Greco and El Mudo, with 
whom, in other respects, Tristan may rank as 
an equal. These masters, however, be it re- 
membered, had studied in the classical galleries, 
and amongst the lovely models of Italy; while 
Tristan seems never to have crossed the Sierra 
Morena, or to have known other types of female 
beauty than what he found amongst the brown 
dames of Gothic Toledo. Had the faces of his 



virgins and saintly women been chosen from 
beneath the mantillas of Seville or Cadiz, his 
pictures would have ranked amongst the most 
charming efforts of the Spanish pencil. 

In 1 619 he painted, for the winter chapter-room 
of the Cathedral, the portrait of Cardinal Sandoval, 
Archbishop of Toledo, one of the best in that in- 
teresting series. The countenance of the prelate 
is grave and venerable ; his grizzled beard is painted 
to a hair ; in his hand he holds the double crozier 
belonging to his rank, being the first of the Arch- 
bishops so represented ; he is attired in a rich robe 
and a jewelled mitre, and over his gloves he wears 
several splendid rings of ruby and emerald. Tris- 
tan has united in this portrait the elaborate execu- 
tion of Sanchez Coello, with much of the spirit of 
Titian. For the convents of Toledo and Madrid, 
and for private families, he painted many fine 
works, amongst which Cean Bermudez mentions, 
with high praise, three large pictures, " The Holy 
Trinity," in his own collection, and " Moses 
Striking the Rock," and " Our Lord disputing 
with the Doctors," in the possession of Don 
Nicolas de Vargas and Don Pedro Roca. He 
died at Toledo in 1640, leaving a great name 
behind him, if " laudari laudatis " be the highest 
kind of reputation ; for Velasquez, in his early 
pictures, closely imitated his style, and regarded 
his genius with admiration after, as well as before, 
his journey to Italy. 


( 1 502-1 568) 

Andalusia — 

" La mejor tierra de Espaiia 
La que el Betis baiia " — 

now began to vie in the arts with Castile, and the 
painters of Seville and Cordoba, although un- 
known at Court and unsunned by royal favour, to 
rival their more fortunate brethren, who were 
winning crosses and pensions at Toledo and 
Madrid. Shut out by their remote position from 
courtly patronage, they had, however, the mag- 
nificent church to cherish and reward them. 
Through the southern cities flowed into Spain 
great part of the wealth of the Indies, refreshing 
their sacred treasuries with its golden tide. On 
the banks of the Guadalquivir rose many a 
sumptuous church and many a proud Chartreuse, 
and prelates and chapters were never weary of 
devising new embellishments for their ancient 

To the records of the Chapter of Seville, Cean 
Bermudez was indebted for the names of various 
artists of reputation which otherwise would long 


ago have perished with their works. Of these 
masters, Anton Perez, who painted for the Cathe- 
dral from 1548 to 1564, seems to have been one 
of the most famous. The Flemish painter, 
Campaiia, left behind him at Seville a son named 
Juan Bautista, who had been his scholar, and who 
was employed with other artists in the restoration 
of the monument for the Holy Week in 1594. 

Amongst the Andalusian artists of whose 
merit the world is still in a condition to judge, 
the first place must be given to Luis de Vargas, 
the best painter of the Sevillian line from Sanchez 
de Castro to Velasquez. Born at Seville in 1502, 
he early devoted himself to painting, of which he 
acquired some knowledge from one Diego de la 
Barrera. This Barrera had been a scholar of 
Alexo Fernandez, whose master was Gonzalo 
Diaz, a disciple of Sanchez de Castro. Vargas 
stood, therefore, fifth in artistic descent from that 
patriarch of painting, although he was bom before 
the veteran's death. According to the usage of 
the Sevillians, he at first painted on sarga — a 
loose-textured • cloth, somewhat like bunting — 
heraldic devices for naval ensigns, and fanciful 
designs to serve as curtains for the church altars 
during Holy Week. The colours, well moistened 
with water, were applied to the cloth without any 
previous preparation, and, when dry, were washed 
over with a thin gum or a very liquid paste ; and 
the materials being cheap, and the dimensions of 


the works large, this sort of painting was held 
to be an excellent exercise for the tyro, giving 
freedom to his hand and boldness to his style. 
Dissatisfied, however, with the modes and masters 
of Seville, Vargas early passed into Italy, where, 
on the sole evidence of his style, the critics have 
placed him in the school of Perino del Vaga. If 
this be the fact, and if Cean Bermudez be correct 
in assuming 1527 as the date of his arrival in 
Italy, he may have been present at the sack of 
Rome, and perhaps followed Perino to Genoa 
under the safeguard of the Dorias. All that 
seems certain is that his foreign travels and 
studies occupied twenty-eight years,^ and that 
he returned to Seville about the middle of the 

In the sacristy of chalices in the Cathedral of 
Seville there hangs a small portrait, by Vargas, of 
the good monk Fernando de Contreras, of the 
Order of Mercy, the " Apostle of Seville," whose 
staff was accepted in Barbary as a security for the 
payment of large ransoms, and who was laid in 
his shroud by noble ladies in 1548. The pale 
countenance of the holy man bears evidence of 
the gentleness of his nature and the austerities 
of his life. The picture is well executed. 
*' V.S.D.P. Ferdins. de Cotreras, Sacerdos Hispal, 
Captivor, Redemptor, ex vivo adumbratus ob. 
an. 1545, a Ludov. de Vargas an. 1541." The 

* Pacheco, p. 118. ^ Cf, Palomino, vol. iii. p. 386. 


error in the first date perhaps diminishes the 
credit of the second. But if Vargas really painted 
this portrait in or before 1541, he must either 
have done so in Italy, or he must have returned 
to Spain several years before the time fixed by 
Cean Bermudez. From the records of the 
Chapter of Seville that diligent historian gathered 
that Vargas painted his first work for the Cathedral 
in 1555. This was the beautiful picture of the 
" Nativity," which still forms the altar-piece of 
the little chapel dedicated to that event. The 
Virgin-Mother might have been sketched by the 
pure pencil of Raphael ; the peasant who kneels at 
Her feet, with his offering of a basket of doves, is 
a study from nature, painted with much of the 
force and freedom of the later masters of Seville ; 
and many of the accessories, such as the head of 
the goat dragged in by a shepherd, and the sheaf 
of com and pack-saddle which lie in the fore- 
ground, are finished with Flemish accuracy. The 
picture is signed, " Tunc disceba^ Luisius de Vargas^ 
He next painted some frescoes in the Church of 
St. Paul and in the old Sacristy of the Cathedral, 
now no longer existing. In the court of the Casa 
de Misericordia he executed a large fresco repre- 
senting "The Last Judgment," in which Cean 
Bermudez praises the figures of the Redeemer, 
the Virgin, and the Apostles, and deplores the 
destruction of the righteous and wicked multi- 
tudes from the effects of the weather. His finest 


work, now at Seville, was painted in 1 5 6 1 on the 
subject of the " Temporal Generation of Our 
Lord," and is the altar-piece of the Chapel of the 
Conception. It is a sort of holy allegory, repre- 
senting the human ancestors of the Infant Saviour, 
adoring Him as He lies in the lap of the Virgin. 
In the foreground kneels Adam, ** the father of 
us all," concerning one of whose legs there is a 
tradition that Perez de Alesio, an Italian painter, 
declared that it was worth the whole of a colossal 
" St. Christopher," which he himself had executed, 
in another part of the church. Hence the picture 
is popularly known as the "Gamba." It is signed 
" Luisius de Vargas^ faciebat 1561 '* ; and the altar 
is adorned with saints and other subjects by the 
same hand, forming a collection of seven pictures 
in all. Amongst these is a portrait of Don Juan 
de Medina, precentor of the Cathedral, which was 
an admirable likeness, and used to cause the idle 
boys that then, as now, loitered in the aisles, to 
collect round the original, as the good man said 
his prayers near the spot.^ Buried in the darkest 
nook of the dim Cathedral, these interesting paint- 
ings can be seen only on festival days, when the 
chapel is blazing with waxen tapers. On the outer 
wall which encloses the court of orange trees, 
Vargas executed a fresco, once of great excellence 
and renown, but now a mere shadow, ** Christ 
going to Calvary," commonly called " The Christ 

* Palomino, vol. iii. p. 387. 


of the Criminals" {el Cristo de los azotados)^ because 
it was the custom for condemned malefactors on 
their way to the place of punishment to pause 
before it and pray a parting prayer. 

On the restoration of the beautiful tower of 
the Cathedral, he painted, between 1563 and 
1568, in its Moorish niches, a series of Sevillian 
swnts and martyrs and other sacred subjects. He 
was probably at work on his lofty scaffolding, in 
1565, when the Flemish artist, George Hoefnae- 
ghel, one of the earliest of sketching tourists, made 
his drawing of the Giralda. Of most of these 
frescoes, which were executed, says Pacheco, on a 
preparation of ochre of Castilleja, no trace what- 
ever remains ; the showers and sunshine and the 
whitewash of centuries have passed over them, 
and they are gone. Only on the north side, in 
the lower niches, may be seen the faded and oft- 
repainted ruins of **SS. Justa and Rufina," **SS. 
Isidore and Leander,** and the ** Annunciation of 
the Virgin," beneath the latter of which frescoes 
is placed the black marble slab bearing the Canon 
Pacheco's Latin record of the restoration of the 
tower. The Virgin martyrs of Seville are repre- 
sented, according to the ancient usage, bearing in 
their hands the Giralda, to commemorate its mira- 
culous preservation in a storm which laid low great 
part of the city. In the roar of the tempest, says 
the legend, a voice was heard crying near the top 



of the tower, ** Down with it, down with it," to 
which another voice made answer, "It cannot 
be, for Justa and Rufina are upholding it." The 
holy potters of Triana having thus foiled, by his 
own confession, the Prince of the powers of the air, 
became thenceforth the patronesses of the "very 
noble and very loyal city.'* 
^ Vargas died at Seville in 1568, with the repu- 
tation of a great painter and a good and amiable 
man. To a natural modesty and kindness of 
disposition he added that sincere and fervent 
piety, not uncommon amongst the artists of the 
age, and so well befitting one whose daily calling 
lay amongst the sublime mysteries of religion, and 
required him to fix his contemplations on things 
above. After his decease there were found in his 
chamber the scourges with which he practised self- 
flagellation, and a coffin wherein he was wont to 
lie down in the hours of solitude and repose, and 
consider his latter end. Notwithstanding these 
secret austerities he was a man of wit and humour 
withal, as appears by his reply to a brother painter 
who desired his opinion of a bad picture of '* Our 
Saviour on the Cross." **Methinks," answered 
Vargas, ** He is saying, * Forgive them. Lord, for 
they know not what they do.' " 

As a painter Vargas is remarkable for the 
grandeur and simplicity of his designs, and for 
the purity and grace of his female heads, for 


correctness of drawing, and agreeable freshness of 
colour. We are hardly, perhaps, in a condition 
to form an adequate estimate of his powers ; his 
easel pictures are few, and it was probably to his 
frescoes, now so dim and defaced, that he trusted 
for fame. 



Juan de las Roelas was born at Seville about 
1558 or 1560, of an illustrious family, which 
counted amongst its members the Admiral de las 
Roelas, who, according to Cean Bermudez, may 
perhaps have been his father. From the evidence 
of his works it is probable that he studied paint- 
ing in Italy ; his style bears a considerable resem- 
blance to that of Tintoretto ; and as that master 
lived till 1594, there is no chronological reason 
against the supposition that he was one of his 
disciples at Venice. He had received a university 
education, probably at Seville, and had proceeded 
to the degree of licentiate, by which title he was 
known when he received the appointment, in 1603, 
to a prebendal stall in the chapel, afterwards the 
collegiate church, of Olivarez, a town four leagues 
north-west from Seville. For one of his fellow- 
prebendaries, Alonso Martin Tentor, he soon 
afterwards painted four pictures on the life of 
the Blessed Virgin, which Tentor, at his death, 
bequeathed to the church. From the archives of 
Olivarez, it appears that Roelas had no share in 
the division of the church rents from 1607 to 1624, 


in consequence of his non-residence, he having 
spent these years at Seville and Madrid. In 1 6 1 6 
he was a candidate for the post of painter to the 
King, and was recommended to the royal favour^ 
by the Board of Works and Woods, as " the son 
of an old servant of the Crown," and as " a virtu- 
ous man and a good painter." The place, however, 
was conferred on B. Gonzalez, to the disadvantage 
of the royal galleries. He continued to reside at 
Madrid for a few years, painting for the churches 
and convents, and afterwards at Seville, till 1624, 
when he returned to Olivarez on his promotion 
to a canonry, and died there on the 23rd of April 
1625. His pious life did honour to the cloth he 
wore and the art he professed ; he was a man of 
benevolent nature, and gave much in alms ; nor 
would he refuse to paint for the poor who had no 
money to pay him for his labour.^ 

The finest work of Roelas is the great altar- 
piece in the Church of St. Isidore at Seville, 
representing the death, or, as it is called, the 
'•* Transit " of that saint. Isidore was Archbishop 
of Seville in the Gothic days, from 600 to 636, 
and the " encyclopaedist of his age," whose per- 
suasive eloquence was said, like that of St. Am- 
brose, to have been foretold in his infancy by a 
swarm of bees issuing from his mouth, and whose 
" Origenes " still remain a mine of curious lore, 
and a monument of his genius and industry. 

^ Palomino^ vol iii. p. 422. 


After a long and laborious life, in which he fought 
stoutly against the Arian heresy and predicted the 
downfall of the Gothic monarchy, finding his end 
approaching, he caused two of his suffragans to 
carry him from his palace in Seville to the Church 
of San Vicente, and there, having received the 
Sacrament at their hands, he divided his substance 
amongst the poor, asked forgiveness of all, present 
or absent, whom he had injured or offended, ex- 
horted his flock to brotherly love and steadfastness 
in the faith, and giving them his parting blessing, 
resigned his soul to God at the foot of the altar. 
This touching scene forms the subject of the pic- 
ture. Clad in pontifical robes and a dark mantle, 
the prelate kneels in the foreground, expiring in 
the arms of a group of venerable priests, whose 
snowy heads and beards are finely relieved by the 
youthful bloom of two beautiful children of the 
choir, who kneel beside them ; the background is 
filled up with the far-reaching aisle of the church, 
some altars, and a multitude of sorrowing people. 
At the top of the picture, in a blaze of light, are 
seen Our Lord and the Virgin, enthroned on 
clouds, and holding in their hands — the first, a 
golden crown, and the second, a chaplet of flowers ; 
near them hovers a band of angels, two of whom 
are making music with celestial guitars. For 
majesty of design, depth of feeling, richness of 
colour, and for the various beauty of the heads, 
and the perfect mastery which the painter has 


displayed in the use of his materials, the altar- 
piece may be ranked amongst the greatest produc- 
tions of the pencil ; the noble subject has been 
treated in a style worthy of itself, and the work, 
in the opinion of an able English critic, need not 
shrink from comparison with the ** great picture on 
a similar subject, Domenichino's St. Jerome." 

"The Martyrdom of St. Andrew," in the 
Museum at Seville, is likewise one of the most 
famous works of Roelas. The apostle is under- 
going crucifixion on the usual X-shaped cross, 
around which stands a number of figures on foot 
and horseback; abovd, in the clouds, celestial 
faces look forth, heavenly musicians warble to 
their guitars, and a lovely Virgin "smiles and 
waves her golden hair ** to welcome the soul of 
the martyr to the mansions of the blessed. This 
picture was originally painted for the Chapel of 
the Flemings in the College of St. Thomas ; it was 
not completed within the time appointed, and was 
at last rather hastily finished, for which reasons the 
college authorities wished to mulct the artist of a 
part of the stipulated price — 1000 ducats. He, 
on the other hand, demanded twice that sum for his 
labour ; and the dispute becoming serious, and no 
Sevillian artist being willing to act as umpire, the 
picture was sent to be valued in Flanders, whence 
it returned, says Palomino, with an award of 3000 
ducats, which Roelas exacted to the uttermost 
maravedi. For the Convent of Mercy he painted 


many pictures, one of which, " St. Anne teaching 
the Virgin to read,"^ is censured by Pacheco, 
somewhat hypercritically, because a table is intro- 
duced with sweetmeats and other eatables. 

The chapel of the University of Seville, now 
the Council-hall and Museum, where the rich 
tombs of the Riberas and Figueroas, and a few 
pictures and sculptures are preserved, possesses 
three fine works of Roelas, which still adorn the 
altar, for which they were painted when the build- 
ing was the Jesuits* College. They represent the 
** Holy Family adored by St. Ignatius Martyr and 
St. Ignatius Loyola,*' the "Nativity," and the 
*' Adoration of the Shepherds." In the first of 
these pictures, the black-robed kneeling saints, in 
one of whom Roelas is said to have portrayed 
himself, are admirably painted studies of the 
smooth and subtle Jesuit ; and in the third there 
is a peasant boy with a drum, in the top of which 
a rent is so skilfully depicted as to be often taken 
for a hole in the canvas itself. To the " Nativity " 
Pacheco,* with some justice, takes exception, be- 
cause the Saviour is represented — in imitation, he 
says, of Bassano — without any covering, a condition 
in which the most Holy Mother cannot have ex- 
posed her new-born babe to the keen air of a mid- 
winter's night. The Cathedral also has a picture 
by Roelas, of " Santiago at the Battle of Clavijo," 

^ Now in the Seville Museum. 

* Pacheco, Arte de la Pintura^ p. 506. 


on his usual prancing white war-horse, and hewing 
down the Saracens, a work highly praised by Cean 
Bermudez " for its force, grandeur, and Titian- 
esquc touches," but now in a state of disrepair, 
which renders criticism impossible. Only a single 
specimen of his painting is to be found in the Royal 
Gallery of Madrid, a small picture once in the 
palace of Aranjuez, of" Moses striking the Rock."^ 
In the centre of the composition stands a woman, 
who, deaf to the cries of her thirsty child, drinks 
eagerly from a gourd, whence the picture has been 
called " The Calabash." Few, if any, of the com- 
positions of Roelas have been introduced to general 
notice, but were he known the Ginon of Olivarez 
would hold a high place among the artists, not 
only of Andalusia, but of Europe. Great honour 
is also due to him as the master of the powerful 
Zurbaran, whose grand works bear the impress of 
Roelas's style, and whose name is as widely known 
as that of any Spanish artist. 

* Prado, No. 102 1. 



{circa 1 576-1656) 

Francisco de Herrera the Elder — so called 
to distinguish him from his son of the same name> 
who was also a painter — was born at Seville about 
1576. He studied his art under Luis Fernandez, 
an artist of traditionary reputation, and to such 
good purpose, that he was the first painter of 
Andalusia who wholly shook off the timid manner 
of his countrymen, and adopted that free, bold 
style which was afterwards carried to so high a 
perfection at Seville. Using brushes of great size 
and length, and sometimes sketching with burnt 
sticks instead of chalk, he produced works of 
great vigour and effect, and from their novelty 
very striking, when compared with the laboured 
pictures of Vargas and Villegas. His skill and 
diligence soon made him famous ; his pencil was 
in constant request for church decorations, and 
his studio the resort of numerous scholars. But 
his temper was as fiery as his genius, and he was 
no less remarkable for his intemperate modes 
of conveying instruction than for the zeal and 
" fury '* with which he despatched his works. Dis- 
couraged by his severity, and terrified by his gusts 



of passion, his pupils were sometimes lost as soon 
as gained : Velasquez, the glory of his school, was 
amongst the deserters, and he was frequently left 
without a single assistant. There is a tradition 
that on these occasions, when business pressed, 
he used to employ his maidservant to smear the 
paints on his canvases with a coarse brush, he 
himself shaping the rough masses of colour into 
figures and draperies before they were dry. 

The art of engraving on bronze, which Herrera 
sometimes practised, is supposed to have tempted 
him to coin false money. His crime being dis- 
covered or suspected, he took refuge in the sanc- 
tuary of the Jesuits* College, and while there he 
employed his time in painting a noble altar-piece 
for their church,^ taking for his subject the legend 
of St. Hermengild, its patron, and one of the 
favourite saints of Seville. Hermengild was the 
son and heir of Leovigild, King of the Visigoths, 
and was converted from the Arian heresy by the 
holy Archbishop Leander, brother and predecessor 
of St. Isidore. For this he was cast into prison by 
his Arian father, who vainly sent prelates of his 
own persuasion to convince him of his errors, and 
finally, to punish his contumacy, an executioner, 
who brained him with an axe on the 1 3th April 
1586. The site of his dungeon was long esteemed 
holy ground at Seville; and his cloven skull 
revered as a relic, first at a convent in Aragon, 

^ Now in the Seville Museum. 


and afterwards at the Escorial. In Hcrrera's 
picture the martyr-prince, attired in a cuirass of 
blue steel and a red mantle and holding a cross 
in his right hand, is seen ascending to heaven in 
a flood of yellow glory, amongst a crowd of 
cherubs, two of whom crown him with a wreath 
of flowers. Lower down are two angels bearing 
the trophies of his triumph — his prison chain and 
the axe of martyrdom ; and on the ground stand, 
on the left, St. Isidore, robed and mitred, with 
his eyes turned to the soaring saint, and his left 
hand on the head of King Leovigild, who kneels 
with averted face ; and on the right, St. Leander 
pointing upwards, and looking fondly down on 
the son of Hermengild, a fair-haired kneeling 
boy, wearing a crown and royal mantle, and gazing 
rapturously at his sire. In grandeur of design 
and skill of composition this noble altar-piece 
was excelled by few of the thousand pictures 
which adorned the proud churches of Seville. 
Little inferior to his contemporary Rubens in 
ease and vivacity of touch and flowery freshness 
of colour, Herrera has greatly the advantage of 
the Fleming in the dignity of his figures and in 
refinement of expression. The venerable Leander 
is a fine study of virtuous old age, and ''the 
hoary hair which is like a crown of glory *' ; the 
robes of the mitred brethren are gorgeous as 
those which drape the sumptuous saints of Paul 
Veronese; and in the free handling and rich 


brown tones of the picture, we detect the style 
which gave its happy direction to the genius 
of Velasquez. "St. Hermengild," now somewhat 
dimmed by dirt and neglect, hangs in the Museum 
at Seville. Newly finished in 1624, when Philip 
IV came to the city, it immediately fixed his atten- 
tion, on his visit to the Jesuits* College. Inquir- 
ing for the artist, and hearing the ofi^ence with 
which he was charged, he sent for him, remarking 
that in such a case he himself was both party and 
judge. The poor coiner of base money, being 
brought into the royal presence, fell at the young 
King's feet and begged for mercy ; when Philip 
granted him a free pardon, saying, ** What need 
of silver and gold has a man gifted with abilities 
like yours ? go — you are free ; and take care that 
you do not get into this scrape again." ^ 

Returning home, well pleased with his deliver- 
ance, he resumed his old occupations, and also his 
old surly habits, which became so insupportable that 
his children fled from his house, his daughter and 
his second son robbing him, says Palomino, of 
6000 ducats, with which they escaped, the one tak- 
ing the veil in a nunnery, and the other to Rome, 
where he became an artist of some reputation. 
Their father continued to reside at Seville, where 
he painted many works for the churches. Amongst 
these one of the most important was " St. Basilio," 
a large altar-piece for the church of the same 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 467. 


name, which may now be seen, though in a very 
clouded condition, in the Museum. His ^^ Last 
Judgment," executed for the Church of St. Ber- 
nardo, beyond the city walls, still hangs over 
its original altar, at the northern end of the 
transept. Although it, too, is dingy with years, 
it well deserves a visit. At the top of the 
canvas appears Our Lord and His attendant 
angels; and at the bottom, a heavy, uncouth 
Archangel Michael stands, waving his wings and 
flaming sword between the crowds of the righteous 
and the wicked, who are finely grouped, and form 
the best part of the picture. For a painting exe- 
cuted under the eye of censors and inquisitors, 
there is here a considerable display of nudity; 
and one of the best figures is a beautiful female- 
sinner, amongst whose fair, luxuriant tresses a 
malignant fiend twists one hand, whilst he slaps 
her graceful shoulders with the other. For the 
hall of the archiepiscopal palace Herrera painted 
four large compositions, '*The Israelites gather- 
ing Manna," ** Moses striking the Rock," " The 
Marriage of Cana," and ** The Miracle of Loaves 
and Fishes." He also executed a number of works 
in fresco, for which he does not seem to have 
understood the art of preparing the plaster, as 
none of them long survived him, except those on 
the dome of the Church of San Buonaventura. 
Of one of his frescoes, a fa9ade in the Convent of 
Mercy, he executed an engraving. 


The flight of his children having relieved him 
of domestic cares, he removed, in 1 650, to Madrid, 
where he had the pleasure, or perhaps the morti- 
fication, of finding his runaway scholar, Velasquez, 
at the height of his reputation and favour at 
Court. Dying there in 1656, he was buried in 
the Church of San Gines. His brother Barto- 
lom^ was also a painter, chiefly of portraits, and 
flourished at Seville about 1639; and his eldest 
son, known as Herrera the Red, who died 
young, painted bodegoneSy and other fanciful sub- 
jects, in a promising style. Of the artists who 
had learned their profession solely in Andalusia, 
Herrera was doubtless the most remarkable who 
had yet appeared. There was an attractive 
freedom in the productions of his dashing pencil 
which was wanting even in the pictures of Roelas. 
One of the characteristic peculiarities of his 
style was the abundance of paint which he laid 
on, which gave, says Palomino somewhat extra- 
vagantly, his figures the appearance of relief. 



Francisco Pacheco deserves especial notice, not 
only as a painter of various genius, but as the 
second master of Velasquez, and as one of the best 
historians of Spanish art. He was born at Seville 
in 1 57 1, of a respectable branch of the noble house 
of Pacheco, illustrious in very early times both in 
arms and letters. His uncle, Francisco Pacheco, 
Canon of Seville, seems to have been supreme in 
the Chapter in all things relating to scholarship 
and taste ; he wrote the inscription for the Giralda 
on its restoration, and the Latin verses which may 
still be read beneath Alesio's "St. Christopher'*; he 
drew up a catalogue of the Sevillian prelates, with 
commendatory Latin verses inscribed on slabs in 
the vestibule of the Chapter-room; he selected 
the sacred subjects of the groups and bas-reliefs 
on Juan d'Arphe's " Custodia " ; and he planned, 
but did not live to finish, an ecclesiastical history 
of Seville. It was probably from this learned 
relative that young Francisco acquired the taste 
for books and literary society which distinguished 
him through his long life, and to which he owes 

great part of his fame, and the student of art 



much curious information. In painting he was 
instructed by Luis Fernandez, whose school pro- 
duced so many able artists. His first recorded 
works were the standards of the fleets of New 
Spain and the Mainland, which went forth to 
"the battle and the breeze" in 1594. On the 
crimson damask of these gorgeous banners he 
painted St. lago on horseback, the royal arms 
of Castile, and various rich ornaments, per- 
formances which remind us of Hogarth and 
the heraldic labours of his early days. In 
1598 he executed a great portion of the paint- 
ings in distemper, for the monument erected 
in the Cathedral on occasion of the funeral 
honours of Philip II. Decorative painting having 
thus engaged his attention, he became noted for 
his skill in executing the flesh and drapery of 
carvings ; he coloured many excellent statues of 
his friends Nufiez Delgado and Martinez Mon- 
tafi6s, and filled in their bas-reliefs with archi- 
tectural and landscape backgrounds. 

At the beginning of the seventeenth century 
he had fairly established his reputation as an 
artist, and was chosen, in 1 600, to paint for the 
Convent of Mercy some passages from the life of 
St. Raymond,^ the miraculous navigator, in com- 
petition with Alonso Vasquez. In 1603 the 
tasteful Duke of Alcala employed him to paint, 
in a cabinet of his palace, the fable of 'Dsedalus 

1 Now in the Seville Museum. 



and Icarus, a work of which the design showed 
considerable skill in dealing with difficult atti- 
tudes, and which he accomplished to the full 
satisfaction of his patron. It also obtained the 
approval of the veteran Cespedes.^ Receiving 
looo ducats for his labour, he expressed his 
gratitude in a sonnet, in which he compared the 
Duke to Phoebus. The Queen of Spain's gallery 
possesses a picture, on panel, of Sta. Ines, a grace- 
ful female figure, executed the year following, and 
signed **F. Paciecus. 1604."* 

In 161 1 he made a journey to Madrid, the 
Escorial, and Toledo, where he spent some 
months in examining the works of art, and became 
acquainted with El Greco, Vincencio Carducho, 
and other distinguished artists and men of letters. 
On his return to Seville he opened a school of 
painting in his house, to which many disciples re- 
sorted. Amongst these in time appeared Alonso 
Cano and Velasquez, of whom the latter married 
his daughter. For his friends, the Jesuits of the 
College of St. Hermengild, he painted a full- 
length portrait of the great founder of their 
order, Ignatius Loyola, for which his model was 
a plaster cast taken from the waxen mask used 
for a similar purpose by Sanchez Coello.^ In 
1612, he finished for the nunnery of St. Isabel 

* Pacheco, Arte de la Pintura^ p. 346. 

* Prado, No. 916. 

' Pacheco, Arte de la Pintura^ p. 589. 


his greatest work, the ** Last Judgment," an im- 
mense composition of many figures, on which he 
expended so much time and study that the price 
which he received, 700 ducats, can hardly have 
paid him for his labour. In a group of nine 
figures in the foreground, between a handsome 
youth and maiden, he introduced his own por- 
trait, a proceeding for which he pleads the ex- 
ample of Titian, whose portrait he found in the 
" Glory*' at the Escorial. The learned Francisco 
de Medina wrote the following inscription, which 
was traced on a stone near the bottom of the 
picture : — 


The Jesuit father, Caspar de Zamora, wrote an 
apology for this painting, in reply to the attacks 
of certain satirists ; and Don Ontonio Ortiz Mega- 
rejo, knight of St. John, composed a tedious copy 
of verses in its commendation, in which Pacheco, 
who has printed it in his book,^ is declared the 
vanquisher of Zeuxis and Apelles, according to 
the fashion of praise set by Lope de Vega. 

In 161 8 he was chosen Familiar of the Inqui- 
sition, a post which conferred great privileges and 
immunities, and was held by his brother Juan 
Perez Pacheco, and by men of the best blood in 

^ Pacheco, Arte de la Pintura^ p. 234. 


Spain ; and he was also appointed Inspector of 
Pictures, an office in which it was his duty to 
watch that no indecorous or indecent paint- 
ings found their way into churches, or were ex- 
posed for sale, and to act as a general censor 
of the pencil. These honours increased his re- 
putation and popularity as an artist, and he re- 
ceived more commissions than he could execute. 
Nevertheless he found time, in the following year, 
to republish some of the poems of his friend and 
fellow-citizen, Fernando de Herrera, to which 
he prefixed an eulogistic sonnet, and a portrait, 
painted by himself, of the author, and indifferently 
engraved by Pedro Perret. From this plate 
Carmona*s engraving of Herrera, for the Par- 
naso Espanol of Sedano, was most likely taken. 
In 1620 he painted for the high altar of the 
College of St. Hermengild the " Baptism of Our 
Lord," and his " Banquet served by Angels in the 
Desert " : — 

" A table of celestial food divine, 
Ambrosial fruits fetched from the tree of life, 
And from the fount of life ambrosial drink." 

These pictures were executed on slabs of Granada 
marble, of which the natural veins and spots were 
turned to account in the colouring. 

In the same year he drew his pen in defence 
of his order, and wrote a learned paper on the 
comparative merits of painting and sculpture, in 


which he gave the palm to the former. This 
publication was called forth by a law plea which 
took place between Martinez Montafi6s, the 
sculptor, and certain painters on a question of 
division of profits. Having carved a retablo for 
the high altar of the nuns of Sta. Clara, and re- 
ceiving 6000 ducats for the completed work, he 
paid the artist, who painted it and gilded it, only 
1 500 ducats, a sum which appeared to him and 
his friends less than his due. Pacheco, in his 
remarks on the case, censures the conduct of 
carvers who coloured their own works as an in- 
fringement of the rights of his brethren of the 
brush, a position which seems absurd when held 
in a city where both arts were frequently and 
lawfully practised by the same master. For the 
Chartreuse of Sta. Maria de las Cuevas he painted 
in 1623 a St. John the Baptist, of the size of life. 
In the same year he accompanied his son-in- 
law, Velasquez, to Madrid, where he resided till 
1625, enjoying the triumph of his young scholar, 
renewing his intimacy with the artists and men of 
letters, and improving his acquaintance with the 
matchless galleries of art. It is probable that he 
was honoured during this period with the notice 
and patronage of Philip IV, of whose favour and 
liberality towards him he afterwards made honour- 
able mention in print.^ He painted a variety of 
works for private persons, amongst which was a 

* Pacheco, Arte de la Pintura^ p. loi. 


composition of two figures, of life size, with fruits 
and flowers, for his friend, Francisco de Rioja, poet 
and Inquisitor. For the Countess of Olivarez he 
painted and draped a carving of" Our Lady of Ex- 
pectation," a work highly esteemed by the critics 
of the day, and valued by Eugenio Caxes at 500 
ducats. He was paid 2000 reals for his labour 
by the devout Countess, who presented the image 
to a monastery of barefooted Franciscan friars 
which she had founded at Castelleja de la Cuesta, 
near Seville. 

On his return to Seville, Pacheco was received 
with great distinction by his friends. His circum- 
stances, appear to have been easy, for his house 
became the resort of all the polished and intellec- 
tual society of the city. The remainder of his life 
was devoted rather to the pen than to the pencil ; 
and his faculties and his energy were not impaired 
by advancing years, for his most important work, 
the "Treatise of Painting," on which his fame 
mainly rests, was not published till 1649, the 
seventy-eighth year of his age. Nor were his 
writings confined to subjects connected with his 
immediate profession; he composed occasional 
poems of great elegance, and he even dabbled in 
divinity, delivering himself of several polemical 
tracts, against a no less famous opponent than 
Quevedo y Villegas, in defence of the claim of 
Sta. Teresa de Jesiis to be made co-patron of 
Spain with the Blessed Santiago, a promotion 


which, after infinite intrigue and inkshed, was 
finally brought about in 1 8 1 2. He died at Seville 
in 1654, aged eighty-three, universally deplored 
by his fellow-citizens. 

Pacheco was one of the most careful and diligent 
of painters ; he executed no work without having 
made several sketches on the subject, accurate 
drawings of the heads, and studies in crayons of 
the hands and other anatomical parts of his figures ; 
and his draperies were always modelled from the 
lay figure. His pictures, therefore, seldom oflFend 
against the rules of drawing and composition ; 
but they are deficient in vigour, and display more 
learning than imagination, and the colouring being 
dry and harsh, they are frequently unpleasing in 
general effect. These faults provoked the follow- 
ing bitter epigram, which a contemporary satirist 
wrote under one of his pictures, a ** Christ at the 
Column." Castilian critics have praised it for its 
neatness and point ; English readers will probably 
be more struck by the apparent irreverence, bred 
of familiarity, with which a sacred subject is treated. 

" Quien os puso asf Senor 
Tan desabrido y tan seco ? 
Vos me direis que el amor, 
Mas yo digo que Pacheco.'* 

Pacheco declares that he early took Raphael as 
his model, " being moved thereto by his beautiful 
designs and by an original sketch in water-colours, 


drawn with marvellous skill and grace, which fell 
into my hands, and has remained for these many 
years in my possession." ^ This great master was 
probably known to him during his scholar-days 
only in prints : had he studied his pictures in Italy 
or at the Escorial the result might have been more 
satisfactory. He deserves, however, the praise of 
industry, and if his more ambitious works are not 
of the first order, he has the credit of having tried 
his strength in almost every style without disgrace. 
From designing an altar-piece, or from the adorn- 
ment of a ceiling, he could descend to illumina- 
tions on vellum ; he executed pleasing pictures of 
still-life, and painted good portraits of his friends. 
His portraits, generally of small ^ze, were his 
happiest performances ; of these he executed a 
hundred and fifty, amongst which that of his wife 
was esteemed the best. He likewise left above a 
hundred and seventy sketches in crayons of his 
friends and illustrious contemporaries, including 
the author of Don Quixote, of all Spaniards the 
man of whom such a memorial would be most 
valuable. Part, if not the whole of these, probably 
formed the precious volume of " Imagines virorum 
illustrum^* with ^^ elogia" drawn and written by 
Pacheco, and mentioned by Antonio as having 
once graced the rich library of the Count-Duke of 
Olivarez. It is to these portraits that Quevedo 
alludes when, apostrophising the pencil, he pays 

* Pachecoy Arte de la Pintura, p. 243. 



the following poetical compliment to the powers 
of Pacheco : — 

" Por ti ! honor de Sevilla, 
£1 docto, el erudito, el virtuoso 
Pacheco con lapiz ingenioso 
Guarda aquellos borrones, 
Que honrdron les naciones 
Sin que la semejanza 
A los colores deba su alabanza, 
Que del carbon y plomo parecida 
Reciben semejanza, alma, y vida." 

(By thee ! Pacheco, Seville's pride, 
Learned, and wise, and virtuous, 
With skilful crayon keeps for us 
The features of the good and great. 
Whose name all nations celebrate. 
In portraits where no mimic dyes 
Appear, to cheat or charm our eyes. 
But semblance just, and life and soul 
Are wrung from dusky lead and coal.) 

The writings of Pacheco were the most im- 
portant legacy which he bequeathed to posterity. 
His quarto volume on the Art of Painting, pub- 
lished near the close of his life, was probably the 
work of many years, and the gamer into which 
he gathered the fruits of his extensive reading and 
observation. Palomino and Cean Bermudez drew 
from it great part of their materials; but as it 
has never been reprinted it is now one of the 
curiosities of Spanish bibliography. Although 
an invaluable authority on all subjects connected 


with the art of the Peninsula, Pachcco can hardly 
be called an agreeable writer, being pompous and 
prolix even beyond the measure of his age and 
country. *'Tabul, the son of Japhet, was the 
first man that came into Spain,*' writes Mariana, 
in the opening passage of his history. Pacheco, 
with equal gravity and yet greater assurance, 
ascends the stream of time to its very source, and 
begins the history of painting in " chaos and 
eternal night." Gravely examining the claim of 
sculpture to rank as the eldest of the arts because 
God modelled Adam of clay, he rejects it on the 
ground that the previous creation of light and 
colour confers that distinction on painting. In 
his ponderous prose these abstruse speculations 
become insupportably tedious, and are altogether 
destitute of the grace with which the poetical 
fancy of Cespedes has clothed them. Like Car- 
ducho, he delights in anecdotes of the painters of 
antiquity, in whose history he is almost as well 
versed as his contemporary, the Dutch Junius. 
He introduces the story of the pots and dishes in 
Cespedes*s "Last Supper" by relating a similar 
tradition of Parrhasius and his picture of a satyr, 
in which the principal figure was eclipsed in public 
estimation by an accessory partridge, so naturally 
painted that it called forth the greetings of other 
partridges; and his remarks on modern art in 
Italy and Andalusia are generally illustrated by 
tales of the Rhodian and Athenian studios. He 


is, of course, no less learned in all miraculously 
gifted works of art and in the sacred pictures and 
images, revered by the Church and attributed to 
St. Luke and Nicodemus. One of the most 
brilliant exploits of the pencil which he records 
is that performed by a Roman monk named 
Methodio, whom a Duke of Bulgaria employed 
to decorate with pictures a new and magnificent 
palace, leaving him to choose his own subjects, 
on the sole stipulation that they were to be 
too terrible to behold. The holy artist fell to 
work forthwith and produced a **Last Judgment," 
in which the glories of the blessed and the pains 
of the damned were so powerfully depicted that 
the heathen duke immediately sent for a bishop 
and received baptism, his subjects, after a slight 
rebellion and chastisement, following his example. 
In the napkin of King Abagarus and the veil of 
Sta. Veronica, preserved at Rome, and in the 
" linen cloth " of the holy sepulchre, a famous 
relic at Turin, all stamped with impressions of 
the face and person of our Blessed Lord, his large 
and unquestioning faith sees convincing evidence 
that the Saviour came into the world for the 
regeneration as well of the art of painting as of 
the human race. 

In the description of his own works he is 
especially prolix and minute. Perhaps the most 
wearisome passage in the whole volume is that in 
which he describes his " Last Judgment " in the 


Convent of St. Isabel, to which he devotes no less 
than forty quarto pages, sparing his readers no 
episode, or even figure, of the whole composition, 
and dilating with almost childish earnestness on 
an improvement which he had made on the 
received mode of painting the angelic array by 
transferring the celestial standard from the hands 
of the Archangel Michael to that of his com- 
panion Gabriel. The long and minute instruc- 
tions on the technicalities of painting were evi- 
dently drawn up with great care, and although 
of little interest to the modern reader, they were 
probably useful to the artists of the day, who 
used the work as a text-book. 

Many pages are devoted to a code of rules for 
representing in an orthodox manner sacred scenes 
and personages, in which Pacheco was assisted by 
his friends of the Jesuits' College. Of the per- 
sons of the more illustrious saints and martyrs 
he gives minute descriptions, taken from ancient 
portraits or contemporary records. The '* Cruci- 
fixion of our Lord," the sublimest subject of 
Christian art, is the theme on which he displays 
the greatest amount of historical research. Guided 
by Anselm and Bede and other holy men, he 
describes the '* accursed tree,*' which has become 
the symbol of our faith, with all the precision of 
an artisan who had assisted in its construction. 
In height it measured, he informs us, fifteen feet, 
and across the arms eight feet ; its timbers were 


flat and not round, with four, and not three, 
extremities, as it has sometimes been represented ; 
the stem was made of cyprus wood, the transverse 
bar of pine, the block beneath our Lord's feet of 
cedar, and the tablet for the inscription of box. 
Against the usage which had crept into modern 
art of representing the Saviour's feet as fastened 
by a single nail, he protests as an heretical inno- 
vation, which he himself discountenanced, by 
returning to the ancient practice of giving a 
separate nail to each foot. He fortifies his posi- 
tion by printing an elaborate essay on " the four 
nails of the Cross," by Francisco de Rioja, who 
learnedly defends the same opinion, and cites in 
favour of it " the holy nail of the Saviour's right 
foot," a famous relic at Treves, the stigmata 
which appeared on both feet of St. Francis, and 
many of the oldest crucifixes, amongst which is 
that which the Cid Ruy Diaz used to carry to 
the field, and which is still revered in the Cathedral 
of Salamanca as the " Christ of the Battles." To 
these ancient precedents Pacheco adds several 
modern instances of weight, and, amongst others, 
a crucifix cast in bronze, from a design by Michael 
Angelo, and constantly worn on the neck of 

The most agreeable and valuable portions of 
the work are those relating to the history of 
Spanish art, written in a spirit of hearty admira- 
tion of contemporary painters, which leaves in 


the reader's mind a pleasing impression of the 
character of the author and makes us the more 
keenly regret the time and space given to Zeuxis 
and St. Luke, instead of Vargas and Joanes. His 
affectionate pride in the success of Velasquez is 
very delightful ; nor is the gravity less amusing 
with which he consoles himself for the superiority 
of his scholar's works to his own by citing the 
parallel cases of " Jorge de Castelfranco " and 
Titian, and of Plato and Aristotle. It must also 
be remembered, to Pacheco's honour, that to his 
taste and friendly care Castilian literature owes 
the preservation of the poem of Cespedes. 

In literary merit the poetry of Pacheco was, 
perhaps, superior to his prose. Of one of his epi- 
grams, Lopez de Sedano remarks that " although 
the copiousness and facility of the Castilian makes 
it no less happy in this species of writing than 
the Greek or Latin, there is nothing better of the 
kind in the language." It is short enough to be 
quoted here : — 

" Pint6 un gallo un mal pintor, 

Y entr6 un vivo de repente, 

En todo tan diferente 
Quanto ignorante su autor. 
Su falta de habilidad 

Satisfizo con matallo 

De suerte que inuri6 el gallo 
Por sustentar la verdad." 


(A daubing dunce had limn'd a cock, 

When lo ! live chanticleer came by 

As if to give his brush the lie 
And the fool's ignorance to mock. 
But lack of skill the man supplied 

With one well-aim*d and vengeful knock, 

And so the unoffending cock 
Fell martyr to the truth and died.) 


(1 599-1660) 

Spanish art was now about to achieve its greatest 
triumphs, and attain its highest honours, by the 
pencil and in the person of Velasquez — an artist 
nurtured beneath the bright skies of Andalusia, 
but early called to Madrid to become the chief of 
the school of Castile. In the reign of Philip II 
that school, perhaps, could boast of a greater 
number of distinguished names, native to the 
province, than in the reign of his grandson. But 
it is the peculiar glory of Philip IV to have 
discovered and rewarded talent, as well in the 
provinces as in the capital, and to have pro- 
moted the artistic union of the three kingdoms 
of Castile, Valencia, and Andalusia. In the last 
century, we have already seen how Vargas, for 
instance, was unhonoured and unknown at the 
Escorial. But now Seville and Granada furnished 
the King with Velasquez, Cano, and Zurbaran, 
his ablest painters; and the Valencian, Ribera, 
by his pictures at least, was as well known at 
Madrid as at Naples. With the life of the first 
of these great artists we shall commence our 

notice of Castilian painting under Philip IV. 



Diego Rodriguez de Silva y Velasquez, or, as 
he is more commonly but incorrectly called, Diego 
Velasquez de Silva, was bom at Seville, in 1599, 
the same year in which Vandyck saw the light at 
Antwerp, and on the i6th of June he was bap- 
tized in the parish church of San Pedro. Both 
his parents were of gentle blood. Juan Rod- 
rigufez de Silva, his father, was descended from 
the great Portuguese house which traced its pedi- 
gree up to the kings 9f Alba Longa; and his 
mother, Geronima Velasquez, by whose name — 
according to the frequent usage of Andalusia — 
her son came to be known, was born of a noble 
family of Seville. To the poverty of his paternal 
grandfather, who, inheriting nothing from his 
illustrious ancestors but an historical name, crossed 
the Guadiana to seek his fortune at Seville, Spain 
owes her greatest painter, as she owes one of her 
most graceful poets to the bright eyes of the 
Castilian Marfida, who lured Jorge de Monte- 
mayor from his native land and language of 
Portugal. The father of the artist, being married 
and settled at Seville, seems to have acquired a 
decent competence by following the legal pro- 
fession. He and his wife Geronima bestowed 
great care on the training of their son Diego, 
betimes instilling into his young mind the prin- 
ciples of virtue and **the milk of the fear of 
God." ^ They likewise gave him the best schol- 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 479. 


astic education that Seville afforded, in the course 
of which he showed an excellent capacity, and 
acquired a competent knowledge of languages 
and philosophy. But, like Nicolas Poussin, he 
was still more diligent in drawing on his grammars 
and copy-books than in using them for their legiti- 
mate purpose; and the efforts of his schoolboy 
pencil showing considerable talent as well as a 
strong predilection for art, his father was con- 
tent that he should embrace the profession of a 

Herrera the Elder had the honour of becoming 
the first master of Velasquez. The dashing and 
effective, and yet natural style of this artist, and 
his singular speed and dexterity of hand attracted 
to his house a large band of disciples, whom his 
fiery temper and rough usage frequently scattered 
in dismay. Velasquez, being a lad of gentle and 
kindly disposition, soon grew weary of the 
thraldom of this clever brute, and after he had 
sufficiently studied his methods of working, and 
acquired something of his free, bold style, he 
removed to a more peaceful and orderly school. 
His new instructor, Francisco Pacheco, was in all 
respects the very opposite of Herrera. A busy 
scholar and polished gentleman with something of 
the tendencies of a Boswell, a slow and laborious 
painter, whose works, sometimes graceful, were 
always deficient in force, he was as incapable of 
painting Herrera*s " St. Hermengild " as he was 


of thrashing his pupils or of uttering base coin. 
Velasquez entered his studio with a determination 
to learn all that was taught there ; and Pacheco, 
on his part, willingly taught him all that he him- 
self knew. But the scholar seems speedily to 
have discovered that he had quitted a practical 
painter for a man of rules and precepts ; and that, 
if the one knew more about the artistic usages 
of Cos and Ephesus, Florence and Rome, the 
other had far more skill in representing on his 
canvas men and women as they lived and moved 
at Seville. 

He discovered, also, that nature herself is the 
artist's best teacher, and industry his surest guide 
to perfection. He very early resolved neither to 
sketch nor to colour any object without having 
the thing itself before him. That he might have 
a model of the human countenance ever at hand, 
"he kept," says Pacheco,^ "a peasant lad, as 
an apprentice, who served him for a study in 
different actions and postures — sometimes crying, 
sometimes laughing — till he had grappled with 
every difficulty of expression ; and from him he 
executed an infinite variety of heads in charcoal 
and chalk on blue paper, by which he arrived at 
certainty in taking likenesses.'* He thus laid the 
foundation of the inimitable ease and perfection 
with which he afterwards painted heads, in which 
his excellence was admitted even by his detractors, 

* Pacheco, Arte de la Pintura^ p. loi. 


in a precious piece of criticism often in their 
mouths — that he could paint a head, and nothing 
else. To this, when it was once repeated to him 
by Philip IV, he replied, with the noble humility 
of a great master and the good humour which 
most effectually turns the edge of sarcasm, that 
they flattered him, for he knew nobody of whom 
it could be said that he painted a head thoroughly 

To acquire facility and brilliancy in colouring 
he devoted himself for a while to the study of 
animals and still life, painting all sorts of objects 
rich in tones and tints, and simple in configura- 
tion, such as pieces of plate, metal and earthen 
pots and pans, and other domestic utensils, and 
the birds, fish, and fruits which the woods and 
waters around Seville so lavishly supply to its 
markets. These bodegones of his early days 
are worthy of the best pencils of Flanders, and 
now are no less rare than excellent. The Museum 
of Valladolid possesses a fine one,^ enriched with 
two figures of life size, and there is another in 
the Louvre,^ less rich and deep in colour, and 
more questionable in its authorship, representing 
a kitchen damsel in a scarlet bodice, keeping 
watch over a multitude of culinary utensils, and 

a picturesque heap of melons and those other 


^ This work has disappeared. Perhaps the best fruit piece 
from the hand of Velasquez that we possess is that in the 
Metropolitan Museum of New York. 

' Not by Velasquez. 


vegetables, for which the chosen people, too 
mindful of Egypt, murmured in the wilderness 
of Sinai. At Seville, Don Aniceto Bravo has, or 
had, a large picture of the same character, but 
without figures, displaying much more of the 
manner of the master ; and Don Juan de Govantes 
possesses a small and admirably painted study of 
a cardo cut ready for the table. 

The next step of Velasquez in his progress of 
self-instruction was the study of subjects of low 
life, found in such rich and picturesque variety in 
the streets and on the waysides of Andalusia, to 
which he brought a fine sense of humour and 
discrimination of character. To this epoch is 
referred his celebrated picture of the "Water- 
carrier of Seville," stolen by King Joseph in his 
flight from the palace of Madrid, and taken in 
his carriage with a quantity of the Bourbon plate 
and jewels at the rout of Vittoria. Presented by 
King Ferdinand VII to the great English captain 
who placed him on his hereditary throne, it is now 
one of the Wellington trophies at Apsley House. 
It is a composition of three figures ; a sun-burnt, 
wayworn seller of water, dressed in a tattered 
brown jerkin, with his huge earthen jars, and two 
lads, one of whom receives a sparkling glass of 
the pure element, whilst his companion quenches 
his thirst from a pipkin.^ The execution of the 
heads and all the details is perfect, and the ragged 

^ But cf. Cumberland, " Anecdotes," vol. ii. p. 6. 


trader, dispensing a few maravedis worth of his 
simple stock, maintains during the transaction a 
grave dignity of deportment highly Spanish and 
characteristic, and worthy of an emperor pledging 
a great vassal in Tokay. This excellent work 
was finely engraved at Madrid, before the war, by 
Bias Ametler, under the direction of Carmona. 
Palomino enumerates several other pictures by 
Velasquez of similar familiar subjects, which have 
either perished or been forgotten. One of these 
represented two beggars sitting at a humble board 
spread with earthen pots, bread, and oranges; 
another, a ragged urchin, with jar in his hand, 
keeping watch over a chafing-dish on which is a 
pipkin of smoking broth; and a third, a boy, 
seated amongst pots and vegetables, counting 
some money, whilst his dog behind licks his lips 
at an adjacent dish of fish, in which the canvas 
was signed with the artist's name.^ In the Louvre 
there is a picture of a beggar-boy munching a 
piece of pastry with infinite satisfaction, a work 
of some merit and evidently by a Sevillian hand, 
which the catalogue attributes to Velasquez. The 
Imperial Gallery of Vienna* has a laughing peasant 
holding a flower, by Velasquez, and the Royal 
Pinacothek at Munich ^ a study of a beggar-boy. 
Whilst he was thus rivalling the painters of 
Holland in accurate studies of common life and 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 48a * No. 613. 

• Not by Velasquez. 


manners, and acquiring in the delineation of rags 
that skill which he was soon to exercise on the 
purple and fine linen of royalty, an importation 
into Seville of pictures by foreign masters, and by 
Spaniards of the other schools, drew his attention 
to new models of imitation and to a new class of 
subjects. His "Adoration of the Shepherds,** 
once in the collection of the Count of Aguila at 
Seville, and at the Louvre,^ displays his admiration 
for the works of Ribera, for it is not only painted 
in close imitation of that master's style, but is, by 
an able critic, held to be a mere copy of one of his 
pictures. The execution has much of the power 
of Spagnoletto; but both the adorers and the 
adored are coarse and vulgar personages, and some 
of them appear to have been drawn from gipsies 
of Triana. But of all those painters with whose 
work Velasquez now became acquainted, it was 
Luis Tristan of Toledo who produced the most 
lasting impression on his mind. The favourite 
scholar of El Greco, Tristan had formed for 
himself a style in which the sober tones of 
Castile were blended with the brighter colouring 
of Venice, each in turn chastening and enriching 
the other. By a careful study of his works 
Velasquez added some brilliant tints to his 
palette, which he applied to his canvas with a 
still more skilful and effective pencil. But he 
always confessed his obligations to the Toledan, 

^ Now in the National Gallery, No. 232. 


and spoke of him with the highest admiration. 
He still, however, remained constant in his pre- 
ference of the common and the actual to the 
elevated and ideal, partly from the bent of his 
taste, and partly because he thought that in that 
direction there remained greater room for dis- 
tinction. To those who proposed to him a loftier 
flight, and suggested Raphael as a nobler model, 
he used to reply that he would rather be the first 
of vulgar than the second of refined painters. 

After a laborious course of study, Velasquez 
became the son-in-law of his master. " At the 
end of five years spent in what may be called 
an academy of good taste," says Pacheco com- 
placently, meaning his own house, ** he married 
my daughter. Dona Juana, moved thereto by her 
virtue, beauty, and good qualities, and his trust 
in his own great natural genius." ^ The violence 
of Herrera had driven him from the school of 
an able master; perhaps the soft influence of 
Pacheco's daughter kept him a willing scholar 
in a studio, inferior in the artistic instruction that 
it afforded to others which he might have chosen, 
that of Roelas, for example, or that of Juan de 
Castillo. As in the case of Ribalta, love may 
have, in some sort, helped to make him a painter, 
by spurring his industry, and teaching him the 
great lesson of self-reliance. Little is known of 
the woman of his choice, beyond the fact of her 

^ Pacheco, Arte de la Pintura, p. loa 


marriage. Her portrait in the Prado Gallery/ 
painted by her husband, represents her as of dark 
complexion, with a good profile, but not remark- 
able for beauty of feature. From the family 
picture in the Imperial Gallery at Vienna, in which 
they are seen surrounded by their offspring,* she 
appears to have borne him at least six children, 
four boys and two girls. Of their domestic life, 
with its joys and sorrows, nothing has been re- 
corded; but there is no reason to believe that 
Juana Pacheco proved herself in any respect un- 
worthy of the affectionate praises of her father. 
For nearly forty years the companion of her 
husband's brilliant career, she closed his dying 
eyes, and within a few days was laid beside him in 
the grave. 

If the artistic instructions of Pacheco were of 
little value to Velasquez, he must at least have 
benefited by his residence in a house which really 
was, as regards its society, the best academy of 
taste which Seville afforded. There he saw and 
conversed with all that Andalusia could boast of 
intellect and refinement; he heard art discussed 
by the best artists of the province, he listened to 
the talk of men of science and letters, and drank 
the new superfine principles of poetry from the 
lips of their author, Luis de Gongora. Pacheco 
cannot have failed to introduce him to the Duke 
of Alcala, and procure him admission to the house 

^ No. 1086. * Not an authentic picture. 


of Pilate, rich in pictures, statues, and books, and 
the resort of an elegant society well fitted to give 
ease and polish to the manners and conversation 
of the future courtier. Much of his leisure time 
was devoted to reading, a taste which the well- 
chosen library of Pacheco enabled him to indulge. 
Books on art and on kindred subjects were especi- 
ally acceptable to him. For the proportions and 
anatomy of the human frame he studied, says 
Palomino, the writings of Albert DQrer and 
Andres Bexalio; for physiognomy and perspec- 
tive those of Giovanni Battista Porta and Daniel 
Barbaro. He made himself master of Euclid's 
geometry and Moya's treatise on arithmetic, and 
he learned something of architecture from Vitru- 
vius and Vignola; from these various authors 
gathering, like a bee, knowledge for his own use 
and for the advantage of posterity. He like- 
wise read the works of Vasari, Zuccaro, Alberti 
Romano, and Raphael Borghini, which gave him 
some acquaintance with the arts, artists, and 
language of Italy. We know not if he shared 
in his father-in-law's love of theology and Sta. 
Teresa ; but we are told that he had some taste 
for poetry, an art akin to his own, working with 
finer skill and nobler materials, the painting of 
the mind. 

Having attained the age of twenty-three, and 
learned all that Seville could teach him of his 
profession, Velasquez conceived a desire to study 


the great painters of Castile on their native soil, 
and to improve his style by examining the treasures 
of Italian painting accumulated in the royal gal- 
leries. He accordingly made a journey, attended 
by a single servant, to Madrid, the scene of his 
future glory, and in the opinion of all true 
Spaniards, as well as in the pompous phrase of 
Palomino, **the noble theatre of the greatest 
talents in the world." ^ Pacheco, being well known 
there, had furnished him with various introduc- 
tions, and he was kindly received by Don Luis 
and Don Melchor Alcazar, gentlemen of Seville, 
and especially by Don Juan Fonscca, a noted 
patron of art, and likewise his countryman. The 
latter courtier procured for him admission to all 
the royal galleries, and used his influence to in- 
duce the King to sit to the stranger for his por- 
trait. But Philip had not yet exhausted the new 
pleasures of reigning, and was too busy to indulge 
in that sedentary amusement, which afterwards 
became one of his favourite means of killing time. 
After some months* study at the Prado and the 
Escorial, therefore, Velasquez returned to Seville, 
carrying with him the portrait of the poet Gon- 
gora, painted by desire of Pacheco. This, or 
another portrait by Velasquez of the same date, 
is now in the Prado Gallery;^ it represents the 
boasted lyrist of Andalusia as a grave, bald-headed 

^ ''Noble teatro de los mayores ingenios del orbe.'' — 
Palomino, vol. iii. p. 483. > No. 1085. 


priest of middle age, and more likely to be taken 
for an inquisitor, jealous of all novelty and free- 
dom of thought, than for a fashionable writer of 
extravagant conceits, and the leader of a new 
school of poetry. 

Velasquez, having visited Madrid as an un- 
known student, was soon to be recalled thither 
as a candidate for fame. During the next few 
months after his departure, Fonseca, now his 
warm friend, succeeded in interesting Olivarez in 
his behalf, and obtained from that minister a letter 
commanding the young Sevillian to repair to Court, 
and assigning him an allowance of fifty ducats to 
defray the expense of the journey. Attended by 
his slave, Juan Pareja, a mulatto lad, who after- 
wards became an excellent painter, he lost no 
time obeying this order, and he was now accom- 
panied to Madrid by Pacheco, who foresaw and 
wished to share the triumph which awaited his 
pupil. Arriving at the capital, they were lodged 
in the house of Fonseca, who caused Velasquez 
to paint his portrait, which, when finished, was 
carried the same evening to the palace by a son of 
the Count of Penaranda, chamberlain to the Car- 
dinal Infant. Within an hour it was seen and 
admired by that Prince, the King, and Don Carlos, 
besides many of the grandees, and the fortune of 
Velasquez was made. 

The King immediately issued the following 
memorandum to Pedro de Hof Huerta, an officer 


in whose department artistic appointments were 
managed : "I have informed Diego Velasquez 
that you receive him into my service, to occupy 
himself in his profession as I shall hereafter com- 
mand ; and I have appointed him a monthly salary 
of twenty ducats, payable at the office of works 
for the royal palaces, the Casa del Campo and the 
Prado ; you will prepare the necessary commission 
according to the form observed with other persons 
of his profession. Given at Madrid on the 6th of 
April 1623." Velasquez likewise received the royal 
commands to paint the portrait of the Infant Don 
Fernando; and his Majesty, growing impatient, 
caused his own solemn countenance to be com- 
menced about the same time. But the bustle of 
the Prince of Wales's visit, and the ensuing bull- 
fights, sword and cane plays, religious ceremonies, 
hunting parties, and excursions to the Prado and 
Escorial, seem to have interrupted the sittings 
and retarded the completion of the pictures. 
Velasquez improved the interval by making a 
sketch of the English prince, whom he frequently 
saw riding about Madrid, and Charles honoured 
him with his notice, and made him a present of 
100 crowns.^ The Prince's departure prevented 
the completion of this interesting picture, which 
unfortunately has been lost. Before he left the 
capital, however, he may have seen the fine por- 

^ " Hizo de camino un bosquexo del Principe de Gales, que 
le d\6 cien escudos." — Pacheco, Ar^e de la Pintura^ p. 102, Cf, 
Cumberland, " Anecdotes," vol. ii. p. 16. 


trait of the King, which was finished on the 30th 
of August, and fixed the position of Velasquez 
as the most popular artist of the day. Philip 
was portrayed in his armour and mounted on a 
fine Andalusian charger, the position which best 
became him, for we have it on the authority of 
the great master of equitation, the Duke of New- 
castle, that ^^ he was absolutely the best horseman 
in all Spain." ^ 

The picture was exhibited, by the royal per- 
mission, on a day of festival, in front of the Church 
of San Felipe el Real, in the High Street (Calle 
Mayor) of Madrid, amidst the admiration of the 
citizens and the -envy of the artists. " There in 
the opefl air did Velasquez, like the painters of 
Greece, listen to the praises of a delighted public.*' 
The King was charmed with his own likeness ; the 
Court re-echoed the royal raptures ; Velez de Gue- 
vara composed a sonnet, extolling the picture to 
the skies;* and the Count-Diike, proud of his 
young countryman, declared that the portrait of 
his Majesty had never been painted until now. 
Such a remark, from the lips of a prime minister 
with pretensions to connoisseurship, must have 
been no less galling to Carducho, Caxes, and the 
other Court painters who had accomplished the 
same task with credit, than flattering to Velasquez. 
The King followed up the blow by talking of 

* Prado, No. 1066. The portrait No. 107 1 is earlier. 
' It is quoted by Palomino, vol. iii. p. 487. 


collecting and cancelling his existing portraits. 
He paid the handsome sum of 300 ducats for 
the present picture.^ And emulous of Alexander 
the Great and Charles V, and believing that he 
had now found an Apelles or a Titian, he resolved 
that in future Velasquez should have the mono- 
poly of his royal countenance for all purposes 
of painting. This resolution he kept far more 
religiously than his marriage vows, for he appears 
to have departed from it during the lifetime of his 
chosen artist, in favour only of Rubens and Crayer. 
Meanwhile Pacheco, in whom all these distinc- 
tions gratified the pride of the countryman, the 
father, and the master, poured out the fulness 
of his satisfaction in the following sonnet, which 
he addressed to Velasquez. To place Philip IV 
above Alexander is a piece of flattery sufficiently 
intrepid. But in justice to the good-natured 
poet, let it be remembered, that our Queen 
Katherine Parr ventured to print it as her opinion, 
in a devotional treatise, that Henry VIII was a 
second Moses, and that Dryden had the face 
to liken Charles II of England to Hezekiah of 
Judah. The glory of Philip at least equalled the 
meekness of Henry and the piety of Charles. 

" Vuela, 6 joven valiente ! en la ventura 
De tu raro principio : la privanza 
Honre la posesion, no la esperanza 
Del lugar que alcanzaste en la pintura : 

^ilPacheco, p. 102. 


Anfmete I'augusta alta figura 
D'el monarca mayor qu'el orbe alcanza, 
En cuyo kspecto teme la mudanza 
Aquel que tanta luz mirar procura. 

Al calor d'este sol tiempla tu vuelo, 
Y verds quanto extiende tu memoria 
La fama por tu ingenio y tus pinceles, 

Quel el planeta benigno A tanto cielo 
Tu nombre illustrard con nueva gloria 
Pues es mas que Alexandro y td su Apples. " ^ 

(Speed thee ! brave youth, in thy adventurous race, 
Right well begun ; yet dawning hope alone 
No guerdon wins ; then up and make thine own 
Our painting's richest wreath and loftiest place. 

The form august inspire thee, and fair face 
Of our great King, the greatest earth hath known : 
In whose bright aspect to his people shown 
We fear but change, so perfect is its grace. 

Guide then by this, our glorious sun, thy flight, 
So shall thy genius and thy pencil's fame 
To other days and men immortal shine, 

Touched with his royal rays' benignant light. 
And blent with greater Alexander's name. 
The praise of old Apelles shall be thine.) 

A longer poem was written in praise of this 
lucky portrait by Don Geronimo Gonzalez de 
Villanueva, a " florid wit " of Seville,* in which 
Philip was hailed as a 

" Copia felix de Numa o de Trajano," 

and Velasquez was, of course, promised eternity 
of fame. 

* Pacheco, p. no. 

^ Pacheco, p. io6, " florido ingenio Sevillano." 


Velasquez was formally appointed painter-in- 
ordinary to the King on the 31st of October 
1623, with the monthly salary assigned to him 
in April, and the addition of payment for his 
works, and the attendance of the royal physician, 
surgeon, and apothecary. He was ordered to 
bring his family to Madrid, and received 300 
ducats to defray the expenses of removal. The 
King soon afterwards conferred on him a second 
pension of 300 ducats, granted from some source 
that necessitated a papal dispensation, which was 
not obtained until 1626. In that year he was 
provided with apartments in the Treasury, which 
were reckoned worth 200 ducats a year more. 
To portray the royal family seems at this time 
to have been his chief duty; and he painted 
many pictures of the King, Queen, and Infanta 
in various attire. Of these, the portraits of Philip 
and Ferdinand in shooting costume, with their 
dogs and guns, in the Royal Gallery of Madrid, 
are especially deserving of notice ; ^ they are 
executed with that admirable and felicitous ease 
which vouches for the truth of the likeness ; and 
they show that Velasquez adhered to nature as 
closely in painting a prince of the house of 
Austria as in painting a water-carrier of Seville, 
or a basket of pot-herbs from the gardens of 

Early in the year 1624 the King paid a visit to 

* Nos. 1075 and 1071. 



his southern provinces, and passed a few weeks 
in the Alcazar of Seville and the Alhambra of 
Granada. It is probable Velasquez remained at 
Madrid, otherwise Pacheco would doubtless have 
been the companion and chronicler of the royal 
progress, which he has passed over in silence. 
The equestrian portrait of Philip IV, now in the 
Royal Gallery of Madrid, seems to have been 
painted by Velasquez soon after his Majesty's 
return.^ Far more pleasing than any other re- 
presentation of the man, it is also one of the 
finest portraits in the world. The King is in the 
glow of youth and health, and in the full enjoy- 
ment of his fine horse, and the breeze blowing 
freshly from the distant hills; he wears dark 
armour, over which flutters a crimson scarf, a 
hat with black plumes covers his head, and his 
right hand grasps a truncheon. All the acces- 
sories — the saddle, embroidered breastplate, and 
long sharp bit — are painted with the utmost care. 
The horse, evidently a portrait of some favourite 
of the royal stud, is bright bay, with a white face 
and white legs ; his tail is a vast avalanche of 
black hair, and his mane streams far below the 
golden stirrup;* as he springs into the air in a 
sprightly ballotade, he realises Cespedes*s descrip- 

* Prado, No, 1066. 

"Cumberland ("Anecdotes," vol. ii. p. 15) remarks of 
Velasquez's horses that "there seems a pleonasm in their 
manes and tails that borders on extravagance.'' But Velasquez 
painted a horse not according to the notions of Newmarket, but 
of Cordoba and Mairena. 


tion, and justifies Newcastle's praise of the Cordo- 
bese barb, the proud king of horses, and the fittest 
horse for a king. 

In the same year his famous picture of the 
Topers, Los Bebedores or Los Borrachos^ of the 
Spanish Royal Gallery, gave evidence that in 
painting princes he had not forgotten how to 
paint clowns. It is a composition of nine figures, 
life size, representing a vulgar Bacchus, crowned 
with vine leaves, and enthroned on a cask, invest- 
ing a boon companion with a similar Bacchic 
crown. This ceremony is performed, with true 
drunken gravity, before a party of rustics, in 
various stages of intoxication. One sits in a 
state of owlish meditation ; another has delivered 
himself of a jest which arrests the brimming bowl 
half-way to the lips of a third ruffian, and causes 
him to exhibit a set of ill-favoured teeth in a broad 
grin ; a fourth, somewhat behind, has stripped 
himself to the skin, like the president, and, loll- 
ing on a bank, eyes his bell-mouthed beaker with 
the indolent satisfaction of a Trinculo. For force 
of character and strength of colouring, the picture 
has never been excelled ; and its humour entitles 
Velasquez to the name of the Hogarth of Anda- 
lusia. It has been engraved by Carmona, and 
etched by Goya. The original sketch is in 
England, in the collection of Lord Heytesbury, 
and bears the signature, ^^ Diego Velasquez^ 1624/' 

* Prado, No. 1058. 


It is finely coloured, but contains only six figures, 
one of which, a hideous negro boy, is omitted 
with advantage in the larger composition. 

Philip IV, like most monarchs of a loose life, 
was a devoted servant of the Church. Had he 
not inherited, says Lope de Vega, he would have 
earned the title of the Catholic. He therefore 
regarded his father*s expulsion of the Moriscos 
with dutiful admiration, not immingled, perhaps, 
with envy of the favour it had obtained at the 
Vatican. The old Christians of Castile took the 
same view of the matter, and Lope de Vega spoke 
only the sense of the nation when, singing the 
praises of the Philips, he especially extolled the 
third monarch of the name, for robbing his fairest 
provinces of the flower of their people. 

** Per el tercero santo, el mar profundo 
Al Africa passb (sentencas justa) 
Despreciando sus barbaros tesoros 
Las ultimas reliquias de los Moros." 

(The third, with just decree, to Afric's coast 
Banish'd the remnants of that pest of old, 
The Moors ; and nobly ventured to contemn 
Treasures which flow'd from barbarous hordes 
like them.) 

Philip IV determined to commemorate this act 
of his predecessor. In 1627 he ordered Carducho, 
Caxes, Nardi, and Velasquez to paint, each of 
them, a picture on the subject. The wand of 


usher of the royal chamber was offered as a prize 
for the best performance, and the artists Mayno 
and Crescenzi were declared judges of the field. 

Velasquez gained a complete victory over his 
more experienced competitors, one of whom^ it 
must be remembered, was a Florentine who had 
not long left the banks of the Arno. He received 
the prize, and the picture was hung in the great 
hall of the Alcazar. In the centre of this compo- 
sition, in which Velasquez was degraded by the 
evil spirit of the age into a panegyrist of cruelty 
and wrong, appeared Philip III, mean in figure 
and foolish in face, pointing with his truncheon to 
the sea, where ships were riding, and whither some 
Christian soldiers were conducting a company of 
Moors and their weeping women and children : 
and on his right Spain, in the form of a stately 
dame, armed in Roman fashion, sat at the base 
of a temple, benignly smiling on the oppressors. 
On a pedestal the following inscription explained 
the subject of the picture, and a bigot's notions of 
piety and justice, peace and goodwill to men — 



On a label beneath was the signature of the 
painter — 


It is probable that the picture perished in the 
fire of the Alcazar in 1735. Notwithstanding its 
interest and traditional merits as a specimen of art, 
it is the work of Velasquez that may be spared 
with the least reluctance by those who hold in 
just abhorrence the last and wickedest of the 

Besides the post of usher, the King gave Velas- 
quez the rank of gentleman of the chamber, with 
its emoluments of 1 2 reals a-day, and the annual 
allowance of 90 ducats for a dress. Nor was this 
bounty confined to the artist himself; he bestowed 
on his father, Don Juan Rodriguez de Silva, three 
legal appointments in the government offices at 
Seville, each worth 1000 ducats annually. 

In the summer of 1 628, Rubens came to Madrid 
as envoy from the dependent Court of Brussels. 
He and Velasquez had exchanged letters before 
they met, and they met predisposed to become 
friends. The frank and generous Fleming, in the 
maturity of his genius and fame, could not but 
look with interest on the young Spaniard, much 
akin to him in disposition, talents, and accom- 
plishments, and destined, like him, to lead the 


taste of his country and extend the limits and 
renown of their common art. The Spaniard could 
not fail to value the regard, and seek the society 
of one of the most famous painters and worthiest 
men of the age. He became the companion of the 
artist-envoy's leisure ; he led him to the churches 
and galleries, and showed him the glories of the 

The advice and example of Rubens increased 
the desire, long entertained by Velasquez, to visit 
Italy. After many promises and delays, the King 
at last consented to the journey, giving him leave 
of absence for two years, without loss of salary, 
and a gift of 400 ducats. The Count-Duke, at 
parting, made him a present of 200 ducats, and a 
medal of the King, and furnished him with many 
letters of introduction. With his trusty Pareja 
for a follower, he sailed on the i oth of August 
1629, from Barcelona, in the company of the great 
Captain Spinola, then on his way to govern the 
Duchy of Milan, and command the Spanish and 
Imperial troops before Casal. The pilgrim's first 
step on the promised land of art was on the stately 
quays of Venice. He was honourably received in 
that city by the ambassador of Spain, who lodged 
him in his palace and entertained him at his own 

The Republic of the hundred isles had now 
declined into the silver age of her arts, as well as 
of her power. The bold spirit which had sus- 


tained and repelled the shock of the Leaguers 
of Cambray, had departed from her councils. No 
longer were 

" Le donna, i cavalier, Tarme, gli amori," 

of the great old houses, painted by Giorgione, 
Titian, Pordenone, Paul Caliari, or Tintoret ; the 
close of the last century had seen extinguished the 
last star of that glorious constellation. Their 
successors, feeble if not few, lived upon the ideas 
and the fame of a former age. Of these, Ales- 
sandro Varotari, known as II Padovanino, was one 
of the most considerable : he affected in his works 
the spacious banquet-halls and imposing figures, 
the sumptuous draperies and snarling dogs, " in 
uso Paolesco '* ; and the " Marriage at Cana," 
esteemed his master-piece, had somewhat of the 
grandeur of the Veronese. Pietro Liberi was 
commencing his career as a painter of altar-pieces, 
which faintly reflected' the style of Titian, and 
of naked Venuses, which gained him the name of 
Libertino. Turchi, perhaps the ablest of the 
band) who had painted much and tolerably well 
for the city churches, was now residing at Rome. 
Such being the state of Venetian art at this 
time, Velasquez conversed during his stay rather 
with the mighty dead than with the living masters 
of his profession. In the Cathedral of St. Mark 
and its subject churches, in the palace of the Doge, 
and in those of the great patricians, he found many 


new motives for that admiration of Giorgione, 
Titian, and their fellows, which he had already 
learned at the Escorial. He spent his time 
chiefly in making copies of the more remarkable 
pictures; amongst others, of Tintoret*s Cruci- 
fixion and Last Supper, the latter of which he 
afterwards presented to the King of Spain. 

His studies were, however, disturbed by the 
war of the Mantuan succession, then raging in 
Lombardy. The hostile troops of France, or the 
friendly forces of the Emperor and the Catholic 
King, equally dangerous to the peaceful traveller, 
hovered so near the city, that in his excursions 
he always went attended by a guard of the 
ambassador's servants. Fearing lest the com- 
munication with Rome might be cut off, he left 
Venice, though with reluctance, about the end 
of the year, and proceeded to Ferrara. In that 
ancient city he presented his letters to the ruling 
Legate, Cardinal Giulio Sachetti, who formerly 
had been Nuncio to Spain, and who, afterwards, 
unsuccessfully contested the keys of St. Peter 
with Giovanni Battista Panfili, Innocent X. His 
Eminence received the King of Spain's painter 
with the utmost courtesy, lodging him in his 
palace, and even inviting him to his table, an 
honour which Velasquez, not being prepared for 
such a condescension from a prelate with a red 
hat, respectfully declined. A Spanish gentleman 
of the household was, however, appointed to wait 


upon him during his two days' sojourn, and show 
him the pictures of Garofalo, and other wonders 
of Ferrara ; and his farewell interview with the 
Legate, who loved or affected to love Spain, lasted 
for three hours. Horses were provided for his 
journey to Bologna, and his Spanish friend accom- 
panied him as far as Cento, a distance of sixteen 

The fine school of Bologna hardly detained him 
in that city ; and although he had letters for the 
Cardinals Nicolas Lodovisi and Balthasar Spada, 
he suppressed them^ fearing the delay that might 
be caused by their civilities. Taking the way of 
Loretto, the more pious if the less direct road, 
he hurried forward to Rome. From the cele- 
brated shrine of Our Lady, the journey across 
the Apennine could not fail to delight his fine 
taste and cultivated intellect. He was advancing 
towards the Eternal City amidst the monuments 
of her ancient and modern glory. The old 
gate of Spoleto, whence Hannibal, fresh from 
Thrasymene, was repulsed, and the aqueduct, 
second only to that of Segovia; the bridge of 
Augustus at Narni, and the delicate temple of 
Clitumnus, lay almost beside his path to the 
Pantheon and the Flavian Amphitheatre. The 
little town of Foligno afforded him a foretaste of 
the Vatican, in that lovely Madonna of Raphael, 
still known by its name, and then in the convent 
of the Contesse. And Velasquez, happily, was in 


a condition to enjoy these things ; to indulge all 
the emotions of an accomplished mind, as the 
landmarks, new and yet familiar, appeared, and 
as the dome of the great Basilica rising above 
the classic height around told him that he was 
approaching the mother-city of his art and his 
faith. Unlike most painters, he entered these 
sacred precincts with a name and a position already 
established, moved perhaps by hopes of higher 
distinction, but with no fears of failure to disturb 
his serenity, no visions of penury 

" To freeze the genial current of his soul." • 

In far different circumstances, and with different 
feelings, that road had been traversed, but a few 
years before, by two brethren of his craft, who 
were to become his equals in renown, Nicolas 
Poussin, an adventurer fresh from his Norman 
village, and Claude Gelfee, a pastry-cook's run- 
away apprentice from Lorraine. 

The Papal chair was at this time filled by 
Urban VIII, MafFeo Barberini, a pontiff chiefly 
remarkable for his long incumbency of that 
splendid preferment, his elegant Latin verses, and 
two works executed at his cost from the designs of 
Bernini — the grand high altar of St. Peter's, and 
the Barberini palace, for which the Coliseum served 
as a quarry. He and his Cardinal-nephew, Fran- 
cesco Barberini, received Velasquez very graciously, 
and offered him a suite of apartments in the 


Vatican, which the artist humbly declined, con- 
tenting himself with less magnificent lodgings, and 
the right of access, granted as soon as asked, at 
his own hours to the Papal galleries. There he 
applied himself with great diligence to study, 
and, with his crayon or colours, made large ex- 
tracts from the new world of painting which now 
burst upon his gaze. Michael Angelo's Last 
Judgment, in the Sistine Chapel, scarce ninety years 
old, was yet undimmed by the morning and even- 
ing incense of centuries. Of this he copied many 
portions, as well as the Prophets and the Sybils ; 
and he copied, also, the Parnassus, Theology, Burn- 
ing of the Borgo, and other frescoes of Raphael. 

Happier than Venice, Rome at this epoch could 
boast more artistic talent than had been found 
within her walls at one time since the days of 
Michael Angelo. Many of the Bolognese masters 
were sojourning for a season, or had fixed their 
abode, in the capital. Domenichino and Guercino 
were now engaged on some of their best works 
— the Communion of St. Jerome, and the Find- 
ing of the Body of St. Petronilla, the Grotto 
Ferrata, and the Lodovisi frescoes. Guido Reni 
alternated between the excitements of the gaming- 
table and the sweet creations of his smooth- 
flowing pencil. Albano was adorning the halls of 
the Borghese and the Aldobrandini with cool forest 
glades, peopled with sportive loves and graces. 
The great landscape painters of France, Poussin 



and Claude, were laying the foundations of their 
delightful and fertile schools. Beautiful fountains, 
palaces, and churches, rising in all quarters of the 
city, displayed the architectural genius of Bernini, 
the friend of Popes, the favourite of princes, and 
the most busy and versatile of men. This society 
of able artists was unhappily divided, by ignoble 
jealousies and personal quarrels, into many factions; 
from which Velasquez stood aloof, without avoid- 
ing the society of the better spirits of the band. 

Attracted, as spring advanced, by the airy and 
agreeable situation of the Villa Medici, built on 
the ancient gardens of LucuUus, he obtained per- 
mission from the Tuscan Government, through 
the good offices of the tasteful Count of Monterey, 
ambassador of Spain, to take up his quarters there 
for a season. This villa, hanging on the wooded 
brow of the Pincian Hill, commands from its 
windows and garden Belvedere the whole circuit 
of the city — the Campagna bestrode by hoary 
aqueducts, and the yellow windings of the Anio 
and the Tiber. It contained at this time a noble 
collection of antique marbles, and the stranger 
from the land of painted wooden sculpture 
lodged under the same roof with the peerless 
Venus of Adrian and the Medici. Bought thirty- 
seven years afterwards by Colbert for the French 
Academy of Painting founded by Louis XIV, 
this temporary residence of Velasquez has since 
been the home of most of the great artists of 


France, during their student days, since the time 
of Poussin. Its beautiful garden, long a fashion- 
able resort, has now fallen into comparative 
neglect ; but the lover of scenery and meditation, 
once attracted thither, will find his ''due feet never 
fail " to linger at noon beneath the alleys of tufted 
ilex, or at sunset, on the crumbling terrace, while 
twilight closes over the city and its giant dome. 

From this pleasant retreat Velasquez was driven 
at the end of two months, by an attack of tertian 
fever induced by the malaria. He was carried 
down into a lodging in the city, near the palace 
of Monterey, who showed him unremitting kind- 
ness and attention, causing him to be attended 
free of cost by his private physician, and supply- 
ing him with all necessary comforts from his own 

Velasquez at this time lived for nearly a year 
at Rome. He went there to study the great 
masters, and he appears to have studied them 
diligently; but, like Rubens, he copied their 
works and noted their style, and adhered to his 
own. The oak had shot up with too vigorous 
a growth to be trained in a new direction. While 
at Rome, he seems to have painted only three 
original pictures ; an excellent portrait of himself 
for Pacheco,^ and the ** Forge of Vulcan" and 

* Pacheco, p. 105. There is his own portrait when about 
thirty years of age, in the Capitoline Gallery. The " Forge of 
Vulcan'* is in the Prado, No. 459. The "Joseph's Coat" is at 
the Escorial. 


"Joseph's Coat," which are amongst the most 
celebrated of his works. 

The "Forge*' is a large composition, on a 
canvas io| feet wide by 8 feet high, of six figures, 
by which his skill in anatomy is fully proved. It 
represents Vulcan in his cavern, surrounded by 
the Cyclops, hearing from Apollo the tale of the 
infidelity of Venus. Had the speaker been con- 
ceived and painted with as much force and truth 
as his auditory, this picture would have been un- 
excelled in dramatic eflFect by any production of 
the pencil. But unhappily the Delian god — 

" fulgente decorus arcu 
Phoebus " 

is wanting in all the attributes of beauty and 
grace with which poetry has invested him, and as 
he stands pointing with his upraised finger, he 
might be mistaken, but for his laurel crown 
and floating drapery, for some commonplace 
youngster telling some commonplace story. Be- 
neath the shadow of the Vatican, and with the 
models of Phidias and Raphael at hand, it is 
difficult to understand how Velasquez came to 
paint an Apollo so ignoble. Vulcan and his 
swart crew atone, however, for the faults of 
Apollo, The armourer of the gods is painted 
from the sketch of Homer, brawny and halting. 
Stunned by the tidings of his dishonour, he gazes, 
half in anger half in sorrow, at the speaker, his 


hammer sinking to his side, the iron cooling on 
the anvil, and his feelings as yet unsoothed by 
hope or scheme of vengeance. Rage and grief, 
pathos of expression and ugliness of feature, the 
most difficult of combinations for the artist, are 
combined in his countenance. The three Cyclops 
at the anvil, and the bellows-blower behind, have 
likewise suspended their labours, and stare with 
fierce dazzled eyes and gaping curiosity at the 
bright visitor, bending forward their shaggy 
heads the better to catch the tale of celestial 
scandal. The blaze of light around the god of 
day falls full on their smirched and stalwart 
forms, and dies away in the gloomy recesses of 
the cavern. This picture, formerly in the Palace 
of Madrid, is now in the Queen of Spain's gallery : 
it was indifferently engraved by Glairon in 1798. 
** Joseph's Coat," after a brief visit to Napoleon's 
Louvre, has returned to its original place at the 
Escorial. It represents the sons of Jacob bringing 
to their father their brother's bloody garment 
of many colours. The patriarch, dressed in a 
blue robe and brown mantle, is seated on the left 
side of the picture, with a red carpet, on which 
a dog lies sleeping at his feet ; on the other side 
of this carpet stand three of his sons unfolding 
the coat, and in the centre of the canvas two 
others are dimly visible in the deep shadow of 
the background. In force of colouring and ex- 
pression the head of Jacob is equal to anything 


that the artist ever painted. But the emotion 
of the old man is not all sorrow — it is sorrow 
mingled with anger and suspicion of foul play, 
and ready to vent itself in reproaches. Hence 
the Jacob of Velasquez is far less touching than 
the Jacob of Moses. The pathos of that inimit- 
able story lies in the much-abused patriarch's 
submission to the stroke, without a word of dis- 
trust, murmur, or reproof. Looking at the coat, 
says the Lawgiver, he knew it, and said, " It is 
my son's coat ; an evil beast hath devoured him ; 
Joseph is without doubt rent in pieces. And 
Jacob rent his clothes, and put sackcloth upon 
his loins, and mourned for his son many days." 
The three more prominent brethren are sturdy 
sullen knaves, in brown raiment, one of them 
with a broad black hat; their faces and figures 
so closely resemble those of the Cyclops that 
they appear to have been painted from the same 
models. These two pictures show how closely 
Velasquez adhered, when at Rome, to his original 
style ; overawed, perhaps, by Raphael and Michael 
Angelo, and choosing rather to display his un- 
rivalled skill in delineating vulgar forms, than to 
risk his reputation in the pursuit of a more re- 
fined and idealised style. His Hebrew patriarchs 
are swineherds of Estremadura, or shepherds of 
the Sierra Morena ; his Cyclops, common black- 
smiths, like those who may have shod his horse 
in some remote hamlet of La Mancha, as he rode 



to Madrid. As the market or the smithy seldom 
affords models for a painter in search of an 
Apollo, the composition into which such a char- 
acter enters is that in which he has been least 

At the end of the year 1630, or the beginning 
of the year following, Velasquez paid a visit of a 
few weeks to Naples. There he had the tact 
to conciliate the esteem, without incurring the 
jealousy of his countrymen, of the Valencian 
Ribera. The only work which he executed in 
that beautiful capital was the portrait of the 
Infanta Maria,^ who had rejected in her girlhood 
the Prince of Wales, and who was now, as the 
bride of her cousin Ferdinand, King of Hungary, 
on her way to the repose of the Imperial throne. 
This picture was painted for the gallery of her 
brother of Spain. Embarking, probably at Naples, 
for one of the Spanish ports, Velasquez arrived at 
Madrid in the spring of 163 1. 

On his arrival at Madrid he was kindly received 
by Olivarcz, who highly commended his modera- 
tion in returning home within the two years 
allowed for his tour. By the minister's advice he 
lost no time in appearing in the royal presence to 
kiss hands, and thank his Majesty for his faithful 
observance of his promise that no other artist 
should paint his portrait ; a fidelity for which he, 
indeed, deserves some credit, if Rubens paid a 

* Prado, No. 1072. 


second visit to Madrid during the absence of the 
patentee of the monopoly. The King received 
him as graciously as the favourite, and directed 
that his studio should be removed to the northern 
gallery of the Alcazar, commanding a view of 
the Escorial, and probably situated nearer to the 
royal apartments than his previous rooms in the 
Treasury. Here Philip was accustomed to visit 
Velasquez almost every day, and mark the pro- 
gress of his works, letting himself in at pleasure 
by means of a private key ; and here he would sit 
for his portrait, sometimes for three hours at a 

The first picture painted by Velasquez after his 
return was a portrait, the first of many, of the 
Infant Balthazar Carlos, Prince of Asturias, born 
during his absence in Italy. He was soon after- 
wards called to assist in the deliberations of the 
King and the Count-Duke, on the subject of a 
statue of the former for the gardens of Buenretiro. 
The Florentine Tacca being chosen to execute 
the work, the minister wrote to the Grand Duke 
and Duchess of Tuscany to obtain their co- 
operation and advice. To guide the sculptor 
in the attitude and the likeness, the Duke sug- 
gested that an equestrian portrait should be sent, 
which was accordingly executed, as well as a half- 
length portrait, by Velasquez. To make assurance 
doubly sure, the Sevillian Montanfe furnished a 

* Pacheco, p. 105. 


model, and the result was the noble bronze statue 
which now stands in front of the palace at Madrid, 
bearing the impress of the mind of Velasquez. 

Portraiture seems to have chiefly occupied for 
some years the pencil of Velasquez. His fine 
equestrian pictures of Philip III and Queen 
Margaret, in which he doubtless availed himself 
of the works of Pantoja, were probably executed 
soon after his return from Italy. They are now 
in the Prado Gallery at Madrid.* The solemn, 
stolid king, baton in hand, and dressed in trunk 
hose, cuirass, ruflF, and a small black hat, goes 
prancing along the sea-shore on a dun horse, 
which he sits with the easy air of a man who, 
in his youth, had distinguished himself in the 
games of the manage. His consort, in a rich dark 
dress, and mounted on a piebald jennet, of which 
the mane and embroidered housings almost sweep 
the ground, takes the air at the gentler pace 
befitting a matronly queen ; behind her extends a 
wide landscape closed by solitary mountains. 

To the same period may be referred another 
equestrian portrait of life size, that of the Count- 
Duke of Olivarez, which graces the same gallery.^ 
Velasquez, doubtless, put forth all his skill in 
portraying this powerful patron, and the picture 
enjoyed so high a reputation in Spain, that Cean 
Bermudez considered it superfluous either to 
describe or to praise it. The minister, dressed 

* Nos. 1064, 1065. ■ No. 1069. 


in a cuirass and crimson scarf, looks back over 
his left shoulder, as he turns his horse's head 
towards a battle raging in the far distance, in 
the conduct of which, by a poetical license, he 
is supposed to be concerned. His countenance, 
shaded by a broad black hat, is noble and com- 
manding; he has a profusion of brown locks, 
and his long, thick mbustachios curl with still 
greater fierceness than those of his lord and 
master. The horse is a prancing bay stallion of 
the Andalusian breed, which, says Palomino, with 
a pleasant pomp of diction, " drinks from the 
Betis, not only the swiftness of its waters, but 
also the majesty of its flow.** ^ Both in face and 
figure this portrait confirms the literary sketch 
by Voiture, who describes the Count-Duke as 
one of the best horsemen and handsomest gallants 
of Spain, and belies the hideous caricature of Le 
Sage. Lord Elgin possesses a fine repetition of 
this picture, of a smaller size, in which the horse 
is white instead of bay. If there be any fault in 
these delightful pieces of true history-painting, it 
is that the saddle is rather nearer the shoulder 
of the horse than the foreshortening justifies. 
Velasquez painted many other portraits of Oli- 

In 1638 Duke Francis I of Modena came to 
Madrid to act as godfather to the Infanta Maria 

^ Palomino, voL iii. p. 494. " Que bebid del Betis^ no solo la 
ligereza con que corren suo aguas sine la magestad con que 



Theresa, who was baptized on the 7th October in 
that year. He caused Velasquez to paint his 
portrait,^ and was so pleased with the performance 
that he rewarded him with a gold chain, which the 
artist used to wear on days of gala. 

In 1639 Velasquez produced one of his noblest 
pictures, which proved, that although from choice 
his pencil dwelt chiefly on subjects of the earth, it 
could rise to the height of the loftiest theme. It 
was the Crucifixion, painted for the nunnery of 
San Placido at Madrid. Unrelieved by the usual 
dim landscape or lowering clouds, the cross in 
this picture has no footing upon earth, but is 
placed on a plain dark ground, like an ivory 
carving on its velvet pall. Never was that great 
agony more powerfully depicted. The head of 
our Lord droops on His right shoulder, over 
which falls a mass of dark hair, while drops 
of blood trickle from His thorn-pierced brows. 
The anatomy of the naked body and limbs is 
executed with as much precision as in Cellini's 
marble, which may have served Velasquez as 
a model ; and the linen cloth wrapped about 
the loins, and even the fir-wood of the cross, 
display his accurate attention to the smallest 
details of a great subject. In conformity with 
the rule laid down by Pacheco our Lord's feet 
are held, each by a separate nail ; at the foot of 
the cross are the usual skull and bones, and a 

^ Now in the Grand Ducal Palace at Modena. 


serpent twines itself around the accursed tree. 
** If there were nothing," says Cumberland/ " but 
this single figure to immortalise the fame of 
Velasquez, this alone were sufficient." The sister- 
hood of San Placido placed it in their sacristy, a 
wretched cell, badly lighted by an unglazed grated 
window, where it remained until King Joseph and 
his Frenchmen came to Madrid to discover — 

" There, in the dark, so many precious things, 
Of colour glorious, and effect so rare." 

It was afterwards exposed for sale in Paris, and 
redeemed at a large price by the Duke of San 
Fernando, who presented it to the Royal Gallery 
of Spain.* 

In the same year Velasquez painted a portrait 
of Don Adrian Pulido Parcja, Knight of Santiago 
and admiral of the fleet of New Spain. Mindful 
of the practice of Herrera, he executed this work 
with brushes of unusual length, in a bold, free 
style, so that the canvas, highly eff^ective when 
viewed from a proper distance, seemed a mere 
mass of blotched colours if approached too closely. 
It is related of Titian that his portraits of Paul 
III and Charles V, exposed to the open air — the 
one on a terrace, the other beneath a colon- 
nade — were reverently saluted by the people who 
went by, as if they had been the living and 

^ Cumberland, "Anecdotes," vol. ii. p. 25. 
' No. 1055. 


actual possessors of the keys of St. Peter and the 
sceptre of Charlemagne. But of this picture 
Palomino tells a story still more curious in itself 
and flattering to Velasquez, inasmuch as the scene 
of the deception was the studio and not the 
streets, and the person deceived not a Switzer 
pikeman " much bemused in beer,'* or a simple 
monk from the Apennine, but the greatest and 
most acute of picture-loving kings. The admiral's 
portrait being finished and set aside in an obscure 
corner of the artist's painting-room was taken by 
Philip IV, in one of his morning lounges there, 
for the bold officer himself. " Still here ! " cried 
the King in some displeasure, at finding the 
admiral, who ought to have been ploughing the 
main, still lurking about the palace; ** having 
received your orders why are you not gone ? " 
No excuse being offered for the delay, the royal 
disciplinarian discovered his mistake, and, turning 
to Velasquez, said, *' I assure you, I was taken in." 
This picture was rendered interesting, both by its 
story and by the artist's signature, which he rarely 
placed on his works : " Didacus Velasquez fecit 
Philip IFy a cubiculo ej usque pictor, anno 1639."^ 
It was afterwards in the possession of the Duke of 
Arcos. There are two full-length portraits of 
this admiral, both fine works of Velasquez, in 
England. That in the National Gallery^ is 
painted on a brown background, with no acces- 

^ Palomino^ torn. iii. p. 492. ' No. 131 5. 


sory object whatever, and the canvas is inscribed 
with the name, " Adrian Pulidoparejay It repre- 
sents a grave Castilian gentleman, with a bronze 
weather-beaten face and a head of thick black 
hair ; his dress is of black velvet, with sleeves of 
flowered white satin and a broad falling collar of 
white lace ; he has a sword girt to his side by a 
white belt; and in his right hand he holds a 
truncheon, and in the left a hat. The Duke of 
Bedford's portrait bears the inscription, ^^ Adrian 
Pulido Pareja^ Capitan General de la Armada y flota 
de Nueva Espana^ fallecio en la ciudad de Nueva 
Vera Cruz^ 1664.*' The admiral is there depicted 
as a swarthy man of singularly surly aspect, with 
beetling brows and shaggy hair and mustachios ; 
his dress is black, with white sleeves and collar, 
and the red cross of Santiago on his breast ; and 
he stands, as before, hat and truncheon in hand. 
Behind his head there is a red curtain, and in the 
background a tall galleon under a cloud of canvas. 
The Alcazar of Madrid abounded with dwarfs 
in the days of Philip IV, who was very fond of 
having them about him, and collected curious 
specimens of the race, like other rarities. The 
Prado Gallery is, in consequence, rich in portraits 
of these little monsters, executed by Velasquez.^ 
They are, for the most part, very ugly, displaying, 
sometimes in an extreme degree, the deformities 
peculiar to their stunted growth. Maria Barbola, 

^ Nos. 1095, 1096, 1097, Prado Gallery, and many oUiers. 


immortalised by a place in one of Velasquez's 
most celebrated pictures, was a little dame about 
three and a half feet in height, with head and 
shoulders of a large woman, and a countenance 
much under-jawed, and almost ferocious in ex- 
pression. Her companion, Nicolasito Pertusano, 
although better proportioned than the lady, and 
of a more amiable aspect, was very inferior in 
elegance as a royal plaything to his contemporary, 
the valiant Sir Geoffrey Hudson, or to his suc- 
cessor in the next reign, the pretty Luisillo, of 
Queen Louisa of Orleans. Velasquez painted 
many portraits of these little creatures, generally 
seated on the ground. 

Whilst these pleasant pictures were starting 
into life in the northern gallery of the Alcazar, 
the unwise and unjust government of Olivarez 
had driven Catalonia into disaffection, and at last 
into revolt. The turbulent citizens of Barcelona, 
ever ripe for a bombardment, having slain their 
Viceroy and seized the fortress of Monjuich, 
received a strong French garrison with open arms. 
On the opposite frontier, Portugal, improving the 
favourable moment, threw off the yoke of Spain, 
and placed the Duke of Braganza on the throne. 
Philip IV was at last roused, and in the spring of 
1642 he determined to overawe the Catalans by 
his presence. The household, including Velasquez 
and the Court comedians, were summoned to 
attend him to Zaragoza. The first stage, how- 



ever, in the royal progress was Aranjuez, lying 
on the road, not to Aragon, but to Andalusia. 
Embosomed in a valley and an unshorn forest, 
and refreshed by the Tagus and the Xarama, 
which niingle their streams beneath the palace 
walls, Aranjuez has long been the Tivoli, or 
Windsor, of the princes, and the Tempe of the 
poets of Castile. Even now, the traveller who 
comes weary and a-dust from brown La Mancha 
and from the edge of the desert looks down on 
the palace, sparkling with its long white arcades 
and gilded vanes amongst woods and waters, may 
share the raptures of Garcilasso and Calderon. 
The island garden, though deserted by royalty 
and grandeeship, has yet its bright sun and rivers, 
its marble statues and fountains half hid in 
thickets; the old elms of Charles V, and cathe- 
dral walks of hornbeam, peopled with a melodious 
multitude of nightingales. The fountain-pipes, 
that once climbed unseen amongst the branches 
and played from the tops of the trees, have long 
ceased to play ; others, however, are still in full 
force ; and a few camels, parading to and fro 
with garden burdens, preserve an Oriental custom 
of the place, as old as the days of Philip IL 
Here Velasquez attended his master in his walks, 
or sat retired in " pleached bowers," noting the 
fine effects of summer sunlight and sylvan shade, 
and making many sketches of sweet garden scenes. 
Some of these have found their way to the Royal 


Gallery, such as the fine view of the Avenue of 
the Queen, enlivened by coaches and promenaders 
from the palace.^ Another is a study of the 
Fountain of the Tritons,^ a rich piece of sculpture 
in white marble, sometimes attributed to the chisel 
of Berreguete, not unlike that which refreshed 
the garden of Boccaccio's immortal palace. 
Through the boughs of over-arching trees the 
light falls brokenly on a group of courtly figures, 
that might pass for the fair sisterhood and gallant 
following of Pampinea. 

From Aranjuez the King moved in June to the 
ancient city of Cuenca, and resided there for a 
month, amusing himself with the chase and the 
drama. After a short halt at Molina he proceeded 
to Zaragoza, where he spent part of the autumn, 
returning before winter to Madrid. Although 
Philip did not take any very active part in the 
campaign, this northern progress must have 
afforded Velasquez an opportunity of studying 
the picturesque in military aflFairs. 

The year 1 643 saw the disgrace and banishment 
of the minister Olivarez. The proximate cause of 
his downfall was the adoption of a bastard of 
questionable paternity as his heir, which alienated 
the support of his own great house and embittered 
the enmity of others. This Julianillo, as he was 
called, was son of a celebrated courtesan, whose 
favours Olivarez in his youth had shared with 

* Prado Gallery, No. ma " Prado Gallery, No. 1109. 


half the gallants of Madrid. His reputed father 
was one Valcarcel, who, having spent his fortune 
on his mother, had formerly been compelled to 
acknowledge the child by Olivarez himself. 
Julianillo, being a worthless profligate, went to 
seek his fortune in Mexico, where he narrowly 
escaped the gallows, and he afterwards served as 
a common soldier in Flanders and Italy. Re- 
turning to Spain, when the G)unt-Duke had lost 
his only daughter, and all hopes of legitimate 
offspring, that statesman determined to make 
use of him to frustrate the expectations of the 
houses of Medina-Sidonia and Carpio. He 
accordingly declared him his heir, by the name 
of Don Henrique de Guzman, procured the 
annulment of his marriage with a prostitute, and 
re-married him to the daughter of the Constable 
of Castile, invested him with orders, titles, and 
high ofEces of state, and actually conceived the 
design of making this baseborn vagabond — once 
a ballad-singer in the streets of the capital — 
governor of the heir-apparent, and in the end 
prime minister of Spain. Amongst other means 
which he took of introducing the new Guzman — 
his reclaimed prodigal — to the world, was to cause 
Velasquez to paint his portrait. There he appears 
in a buflF coat, with a red scarf and breeches, hold- 
ing in one hand a hat with blue and white feathers, 
and in the other a badge of an order ; the new fine 
clothes, and the new cross of Alcantara given by 


his new father, that he might do honour to his 
new name and new rank in the presence of his new 
wife. His complexion is dark, and his counte- 
nance somewhat melancholy ; but his air, in spite 
of a youth spent in stews and sutlers' booths, is 
that of a gentleman and Castilian. Of this in- 
teresting historical portrait the upper part only 
is finished, the rest being left incomplete, perhaps 
because Julianillo had relapsed into his proper 
obscurity. It was formerly in the collection of 
the Count of Altamira, and it is now in England, 
in the gallery of the Earl of EUesmere. 

The last portrait of the Count-Duke, painted 
by Velasquez while the favourite was yet in his 
pride of place, is perhaps that which occurs in the 
small picture of the royal Court of Manage, now 
in the possession of the Duke of Westminster. 
In the foreground the Infant Balthazar Carlos, a 
boy of twelve or thirteen, prances on a piebald 
jennet, behind which a dwarf is dimly discernible ; 
further off Olivarez, who held amongst a count- 
less number of offices that of riding-master to the 
heir-apparent, stands in a dark dress and white 
boots, conversing with two men, one of whom 
offers him a lance; and from a balcony at an 
adjacent window the King, Queen, and a little 
Infanta look down upon the scene. 

This picture was probably completed only a 
short time before the Count-Duke, finding his 
position in the royal closet seriously affected by 


the pressure from without, tendered his resigna- 
tion of office, which, to his surprise and mortifica- 
tion, was immediately accepted. Retiring by the 
King's order to Loeches, he amused himself for 
six months with his farm and his dogs, by writing 
an apology for his life, and perhaps by visiting 
the pictures of Rubens, which he had given to 
the conventual church. But his place of exile 
being changed to Toro, a decaying town on the 
Douro, thirty-seven leagues from the capital, he 
sank into melancholy and the study of magic, 
and died in two years, of a broken heart. Of 
all the courtiers and statesmen whose fortunes he 
had made, there were few who failed to display 
the proverbial ingratitude of their order. Amongst 
those of them who could remember a fallen 
minister, one was the Grand Inquisitor, who 
requited Olivarez for two mitres by quietly in- 
terposing difficulties in the way of a prosecution 
raised against him before the Holy Office, as a 
practitioner of the black art. Another was 
Velasquez, who sincerely mourned the misfor- 
tunes of his benefactor, and visited him in his 
exile, probably at Loeches. In an age when a 
disgraced favourite was treated, generally perhaps 
with much justice, as a state criminal, this act of 
gratitude was highly honourable to the artist. It 
is no less honourable to the King, his master, that 
friendly intercourse with the late minister was 
not punished by the withdrawal of Court favour. 


Indeed it seems to have had a contrary effect on his 
fortunes, for in the very year of Olivarez's dis- 
missal Velasquez was made assistant-gentleman of 
the royal chamber. 

In this year, and the next, 1644, Velasquez 
again accompanied the Court on expeditions to 
Aragon. On the Flemish field of Rocroy the 
great Condi had just reached his first laurels, 
and the Austrian eagie had been beaten, as that 
imperial bird had never been beaten before, by 
the Gallic cock. Vigorous measures were now 
needful, and the rebels and their French allies 
in Catalonia could no longer be safely trifled 
with. Philip IV, therefore, took the field in 
person, pranced at the head of his troops attired 
in regal purple, laid siege to Lerida, and after 
displaying considerable energy and ability, entered 
that city in triumph on the 7th of August 1644. 
He made his entry dressed in a splendid suit of 
purple and gold, glittering with gems, and waving 
with plumes, and mounted on a fine Neapolitan 
charger. In this gallant guise he caused Velasquez 
to paint his portrait. 

The joy at Court which followed the fall of 
Lerida was soon changed to mourning by the 
death of the good Queen Isabella, '*the best 
and most lamented Queen of Spain" since the 
days of Isabella the Catholic. The last portrait 
which Velasquez painted of this royal lady was 
the fine equestrian picture, now in the Prado 



Gallery/ Here the dress of Isabella is of black 
velvet, richly embroidered with pearls, and contrasts 
well with the flowing mane of her gently prancing 
steed, milk-white in colour, and in shape the 
perfection of an Andalusian palfrey. Her cheeks 
whisper that the pencil and rouge-pot, the bane 
of Castilian beauty, were not banished from her 
toilette, but the artificial roses have been planted 
by the dexterous hand of a Frenchwoman, and 
merely heighten the lustre of her large black 
eyes. This picture was painted as a companion- 
piece to the equestrian portrait of the King, 
executed seventeen or eighteen years before, soon 
after his return from Seville. 

Velasquez afterwards painted the Prince of 
Asturias, nearly of life size, mounted on a bay 
pony, and galloping out of the picture towards 
the spectator.^ The little cavalier is dressed like 
his father, in a cuirass, crimson scarf, and plumed 
hat; he is full of boyish glee and spirit, and 
his miniature steed is admirably foreshortened. 
There is a small representation of this picture at 
Dulwich College ; another is in the collection of 
Mr. Rogers. Besides this picture, the Royal Gallery 
of Madrid possesses three other full-length por- 
traits of this Infant, all by Velasquez. In two 
of them he appears in shooting costume, on one 
occasion with an admirably painted dog ;' and in 

* Prado, No. 1067. " Prado, No. 1068. 
', Prado, No. 1076. 



the third he is in a rich gala dress.^ In the Wal- 
lace collection he may likewise be seen, charmingly 
portrayed by the same master, in a suit of black 
velvet, slashed and richly laced. Behind him is 
a chest covered with crimson velvet and adorned 
with gold, which deserves notice, because it ex- 
actly agrees with the description of those which 
contained the rich toilette furniture presented by 
Philip IV to the Prince of Wales.^ Few pictures 
excel this in lustre and brilliancy of colour. The 
Prince whom Velasquez has thus immortalised 
was a good-humoured round-faced boy, who gave 
no promise of intellectual excellence, and who died 
in his seventeenth year. 

Between 1645 and 1648 Velasquez painted, for 
the palace of Buenretiro, his noble '* Surrender of 
Breda," a picture executed with peculiar care, per- 
haps out of regard for the memory of his illustrious 
friend and fellow-traveller Spinola, who died not 
long after they parted, in his Italian command, a 
victim of the ingratitude of the Spanish Court. 
It represents that great general, the last Spain ever 
had, in one of the proudest moments of his career, 
receiving, in 1625, the keys of Breda from Prince 
Justin of Nassau, who conducted the obstinate 
defence. The victor, clad in dark mail, and re- 
markable for easy dignity of mien, meets his van- 
quished foe hat in hand, and prepares to embrace 
him with generous cordiality. Behind the leaders 

* No. 1083. * No. 12. 



stand their horses and attendants, and beyond the 
stafF of Spinola there is a line of pikemen, whose 
pikes, striping the blue sky, have caused the picture 
to be known as that of ''The Lances.*' Prince 
Justin lacks the high-bred air of the Genoese 
noble; and, indeed, the contrast between the 
soldiers of Spain and Holland is marked through- 
out with a somewhat malicious pencil, the former 
being all gentlemen and Castilians, and the latter 
all Dutch boors, with immeasurable breeches, 
looking on with stupid wonder, like the Swiss 
guards in Raphael's " Mass of Bolsena'* at the 
Vatican. The dark handsome head with a plumed 
hat, to the extreme left of the picture, is said to 
be the portrait of the artist.^ 

About this time he painted the King once more, 
armed and upon horseback. But this portrait, on 
being exhibited, did not meet with the applause 
generally rendered to his works. While some 
praised, others censured, alleging that the horse 
was not drawn according to the rules and models 
of the manage. Teased with the contrary opinions 
of the critics, Velasquez at last expunged the 
greater part of the picture, writing at the same 
time on the canvas, ^^ Didacus Velasquez^ Pictor 
Regis y expinxiC^ * He was more fortunate in the 
portrait of his friend, the poet Francisco de Que- 
vedo.' By his pencil the world has been informed 

* Prado, No. 1060. ■ But cf. Palomino, vol. iii. p. 496. 
^ In collection, Duke of Wellington. 


that this celebrated writer had a lively countenance 
and a bushy head of hair ; that he wore the cross 
of Santiago on his breast, and a huge pair of spec- 
tacles on his nose — not, indeed, for show, like the 
fine ladies and gentlemen of the next reign, but 
because he had injured his sight by over-study in 
his youth at Alcala. For the castle of Gandia 
he executed the portrait of Cardinal Caspar de 
Borja,* who successively wore the mitres of Seville 
and Toledo, and gave the magnificent benevolence 
of 500,000 crowns towards the prosecution of the 
naval war with the Dutch. He likewise painted 
portraits of Pereira, master of the royal household ; 
of Fernando de Fonseca Ruiz de Contreras, Mar- 
quess of La Lapilla; of the blessed Simon de 
Roxas, confessor to Queen Isabella, whose holiness 
and family interest raised him to the Calendar; 
and of a nameless lady of singular beauty, cele- 
brated in an epigram by Gabriel Bocangel.^ 

In 1648 Velasquez was sent by the King on a 
second journey to Italy, to collect works of art, 
partly for the royal galleries and partly for the 
academy which it was proposed to establish at 
Madrid- His orders were to purchase everything 
that was to be sold that he thought worth buying 
— a commission sufficiently large and confidential. 
Leaving the capital in November, attended as usual 
by his faithful Pareja, he crossed the Sierra Morena; 
and after seeing Granada, and its glories of nature 

^ In Sturt Gallery, Frankfort. ^ Palomino, torn. iii. p. 498. 


» » 1 


< • 

■ . ♦ ' ^ * » 1 

\ '\. *\ a 

■ '^riiiea u'W •• -vh.I a lively countenance 
. '•. tvl '/f h:i r; .■•>.! h-j wore the cross 
. his tvi'R^T > . ! u I i re pair of spec- 
!.. »•;*- -n.*, ' '. ,^. >r s^ow, like the 

m/ L'-Mt!tT. • * " . :u .<t reign, but 
• ■ •'■ -' * t l^y over-study in 
I -^ '-'J castle of Gandia 
] livj • x'rtrnit ot Carviinal Caspar de 
•':••*,' ' .-• ^«.. . I ••;-.- vL'ly \\(Me il.t* n.ltrcs of Seville 
.i 1 l»^ " vi -. : r.:\e the nr:j!iif c'jn' benevolence 

• : .'-''v !^s tO'War.i *.- c i "n.-^eiution of the 
»••• " . ^. : '\-]\ xi\c Duty.]). 11 likewise painted 

'. * ' T'lvira, mastt^r 'i* ^:-L royal household ; 

• • " .:■ de Fonseca K-. \y dc Contreras, Mar- 

"t La Lapilla; of the blessed Simon de 

i ^onfessor X\> ^ >uv.en Isalnjlla, whose holiness 

..niily infect s" 'aised him to the Calendar; 

* • . "fa naiT.c n hidy of sinirular beauty, cele- 

l^rritcvl in an t ; ^;::.m by Gah»-*'el Bocangel." 

In if*A> \\'a>'u/z was ^cnt bv the Kincr on a 

second i • 't-uv tu Italy, to collect works of art, 

partly ^ -r t\c royal galleries and partly for the 

acad.c!^^\ which it was proposed to establish at 

Ma.:* . 4. 1 lis orders were to purchase'cverylhing 

r]'C >■> i> to be sold that he thought worth buying 

.: .:')mmission sufliciently large and confidential. 

I J :• vii:g the capital in November, attended as usiial 

■ his faithful Pareja, he crossed the Sierra Morena; 

u! aficr seeing Gr'uiada, and its glories of nature 

*i. ^ .url ( n'lllerv, Fiaukfort. ■ 1* ilomino, torn. iii. p. 498. 



and art, took shipping at Malaga. He embarked 
in the train of Don Jayme Manuel de Cardenas, 
Duke of Naxera and Maqueda, who was on his way 
to Trent, to act as proxy for his sovereign, at his 
nuptials with the Archduchess Mariana. They 
landed at Genoa, and there Velasquez spent some 
days exploring the churches and galleries, and en- 
joying the beauty of the city and its shores. There 
he saw the palaces, jostling each other in lofty 
streets, or hung on breezy terraces over the blue 
haven, in which his friend Rubens had been a wel- 
come guest, and which he had sketched early in 
the century. There, too, he had improved his ac- 
quaintance with the works of Vandyck, who, thirty 
years before, had been received with enthusiasm 
by the Balbi and the Spinola. The lords of the 
proud city were the first nobles portrayed by the 
peculiar painter of the order; and the walls of 
their mansions were still rich with memorials 
of his pencil. Nor was Genoa, at this time, want- 
ing in good native artists. The elder Castiglione, 
remarkable for his industry and versatile powers, 
was daily adding to his reputation by new altar- 
pieces, studies of animals, and pictures of classical 
story. From the school of Strozzi the refractory 
Gtpuchin, better known as II Prete Genovese, had 
issued Giovanni Ferrari, who excelled his master 
as a painter of sacred subjects, and his scholar, 
Giovanni Carbone, executed portraits somewhat 
in the manner of Vandyck. 


Velasquez next visited Milan. Here he found 
the school of Lombardy but poorly represented 
by Ercole Proccaccini, the last of a race which 
had produced painters for five generations. But 
the Borromean Gallery, with its treasures of 
ancient art, was there to instruct and delight 
him ; and above all, the Last Supper, of Leon- 
ardo da Vinci, in the refectory of Santa Maria 
delle Grazie. Proceeding on his journey, without 
waiting for the feasts and pageants with which 
Milan celebrated the arrival of the Imperial bride 
in her triumphal progress to the Spanish throne, 
he went to Padua, and thence to Venice. In the 
city of St. Mark he remained for some weeks, 
refreshing his recollection of the works of the 
great painters, and when he could, buying them 
for his master. His principal purchases were 
Tintoretto's pictures of the Israelites gathering 
Manna, the Conversion of St. Paul, the Glory of 
Heaven, a sketch for his great work, and the 
charming Venus and Adonis of Paul Veronese. 
His next halting-place was Bologna, a city through 
which he had hurried in his first journey. Here 
time had left very few of that goodly company 
of painters trained by the Caracci. Alessandro 
Tiarini, one of the ablest of Lodovico's followers, 
was still alive ; but his pencil had lost its early 
force, and his style was declining into the feeble- 
ness of old age. But Colonna and Mitelli, the 
flower of a later generation, and the best fresco- 


painters of the day, were now at the height of 
their fame ; and their works so pleased Velasquez, 
that he invited them to enter the service of his 
master. During his stay at Bologna he lived in 
the palace of the Count of Sena, who went out 
with many gentlemen of the city in their coaches 
to meet him on his arrival, and who treated him 
with the utmost distinction. 

Whilst in the north of Italy he visited the 
Court of his former sitter, the Duke of Modena, 
head of the illustrious and beneficent House of 
Este. That prince received King Philip's painter 
very graciously, and as an old friend ; he invited 
him to the palace, and he showed him his noble 
picture-gallery, in which Velasquez had the satis- 
faction of finding the portrait of his Highness 
which he had painted at Madrid. Here he like- 
wise saw the fine works of Correggio, now at 
Dresden; the St. Sebastian, the Nativity, better 
known as La Notte, which the Duke was sus- 
pected of having caused to be stolen from a 
church at Reggio ; and the Magdalene, which 
the Princes of Este were wont to carry with them 
on their journeys, and which the King of Poland 
kept under lock and key in a frame of jewelled 
silver. He was likewise sent by the Duke to see 
his country house, a few leagues from Modena, 
which had lately been adorned with spirited 
frescoes by Colonna and Mitel li. 

At Parma Velasquez saw the masterpieces ot 


Correggio in their perfection. The frescoes in 
the Cathedral and the Church of San Giovanni 
had not been painted more than a hundred and 
twenty years; and the domes of these temples 
revealed many noble forms and sweet faces, which 
the incense and neglect of centuries have now 
covered with an impenetrable veil. He likewise 
visited Florence, then as now abounding with 
works of art, but not very rich in artists. Of the 
latter, the most noted were Pietro da Cortona, 
who frequently lived at Rome, and painted with 
ease and grandeur ; and the melancholy Carlo 
Dolci, whose pencil, like that of Joanes, was 
devoted to sacred subjects, which he represented 
with a cloying sweetness of style. Salvator Rosa 
was at this time in the service of the Grand Duke, 
and he may have entertained Velasquez at some 
of his dramatic symposia amongst the wits and 
nobles of Florence. 

Passing through Rome, the Spaniard hastened 
to Naples, where he found the kingdom slowly 
recovering from the fever into which it had been 
thrown by Masaniello and the Duke of Guise, 
under the bleedings and purgings of the Count 
of Oiiate, the most vigorous of viceroys and the 
sternest of state-surgeons. He was kindly re- 
ceived by that functionary, with whom he had 
orders to confer on the subject of his artistic 
mission. He also renewed his acquaintance with 
Ribera, who was still basking in viceregal favour. 


and the leader of Neapolitan art. These objects 
attained, he returned to Rome. 

Innocent X, Giovanni Battista Panfili, the 
reigning Pontiff, preferred his library to his 
galleries, and was so keen a book- collector that, 
when Cardinal, he was accused of enriching his 
shelves by pilfering rarities which he could not 
purchase. He was, however, also a patron of art, 
and one of the five Popes that caressed Bernini, 
whom he employed to complete the labours of 
ages by erecting the beautiful colonnade of St. 
Peter's. When Velasquez arrived at Rome he 
granted him an audience, and commanded him 
to paint his portrait ; and the task being executed 
to his entire satisfaction, he presented the artist 
with a gold chain and medal of himself. The 
Holy Father, a man of coarse features and surly 
expression, was painted sitting in his easy-chair ; 
and the portrait was no less effective than that of 
Admiral Pareja; for it is said that one of the 
chamberlains, catching a glimpse of the picture 
through an open door leading from an ante- 
chamber, cautioned some of his fellow-courtiers 
to converse in a lower tone, because his Holiness 
was in the next room. Of this portrait Velas- 
quez executed several copies, one of which he 
carried to Spain. The original is probably that 
which remains in the possession of the family in 
the Pamfili-Doria palace at Rome; a fine re- 
petition is now in the collection of the Duke of 


Wellington at Apsley House. Velasquez also 
painted portraits of Cardinal Panfili, the Pope's 
nephew, and of Donna Olympia, the Pope's sister- 
in-law and mistress, of several personages of the 
Papal Court, and of a lady whom Palomino calls 
Flaminia Triunfi, an excellent painter. Before 
taking in hand the Sovereign Pontiff, he threw 
oiF, by way of practice, a likeness of his servant 
Pareja. This portrait, sent by the hand of the 
person whom it represented to some of his artist- 
friends, so delighted them, that they procured 
Velasquez's election into the Academy of St. 
Luke. Pareja's likeness — perhaps the fine por- 
trait now in Lord Radnor's collection — was ex- 
hibited with the works of Academicians in the 
Pantheon on the feast of St. Joseph, and was re- 
ceived with universal applause. Andreas Schmit, 
a Flemish landscape painter, who was then at 
Rome, afterwards visited Madrid, and bore witness 
to the triumph of the Castilian pencil. 

During his residence at Rome, which extended 
to upwards of a year, Velasquez appears to have 
mixed more than formerly in general society. 
The Cardinal-nephew, his old friend Cardinal 
Barberini, Cardinal Rospigliosi, and many of the 
Roman princes, loaded him with civilities. And 
his business being rather to buy pictures than to 
paint or copy them, he was courted and caressed 
not only by the great, but by the artists. Bernini 
and the sculptor Algardi were his friends, and 


Nicolas Poussin, Pietro da Cortona, and Matteo 
Prete, called II Calabrese, 

" Bless'd with each talent and each art to please," 

and of a disposition so captivating as to disarm 
jealousy, the progress of Velasquez in Roman 
society must have been a continued ovation. It 
would be pleasing, were it possible, to draw aside 
the dark curtain of centuries and follow him into 
the palaces and studios; to see him standing by 
while Claude painted, or Algardi modelled, enjoy- 
ing the hospitalities of Bentivoglio — perhaps in 
that fair hall glorious with Guido's recent fresco 
of Aurora— or mingling in the group that accom- 
panied Poussin in his evening walks on the terrace 
of Triniti de Monti. 

When Velasquez had been absent upwards of 
a year Philip IV began to be impatient for his 
return. His friend the Marquess of La Lapilla 
took care to inform him by letter of the royal 
wishes. But the business of collecting pictures 
and marbles appears to have gone on slowly, for 
he did not leave Rome until 165 1. He wished 
to travel home by land, visiting Paris on his way ; 
but the war between the Githolic and Christian 
crowns continuing to drag its slow length along 
rendered such a journey impracticable. Moving 
northwards therefore to Genoa, he there em- 
barked, leaving behind him the fruits of his 
travels, which were deposited at Naples, and 


afterwards transported to Spain when the Count 
of Oiiate returned from his government. In 
June 1 65 1 he landed at Barcelona, still gar- 
risoned by the French, and about to endure a 
tedious blockade from Don Juan of Austria* 

At his return to Madrid he was rewarded for 
the labours of his journey by being appointed 
Aposentador-mayor of the King's household. 
This post, which had been held under Philip II 
by the architects Herrera and Mora, was one of 
great dignity and considerable emolument. Its 
duties were various, and some of them trouble- 
some. It was the business of the Aposentador 
to superintend public festivals, and exercise a 
certain jurisdiction within the palace ; to pro- 
vide lodging for the King and his train in all 
progresses; to place his Majesty's chair and 
remove the cloth when the King dined in public ; 
to issue keys to all new chamberlains; to set 
chairs for cardinals and viceroys who came to kiss 
hands, and for the heir-apparent when he received 
the oath of allegiance. His salary was 3000 ducats 
a year, and he carried at his girdle a key which 
opened every lock in the palace. Velasquez had 
for one of his deputies and assistants in office the 
painter Juan Bautista del Mazo Martinez, who 
now was, or afterwards became, his son-in-law. 

He arrived at Court in time to share the festi- 
vities of the 1 2th of July, which celebrated the 
birth of an Infanta, the first child of Queen 


Mariana. The christening took place on the 
25th, and may be described as a specimen of 
the scenes in which Velasquez bore a part. 
Through the galleries of the Alcazar, hung with 
tapestries of silk and gold, there moved to the 
chapel royal a splendid procession of guards and 
courtiers, closed by Don Luis de Haro, the prime 
minister, carrying the royal babe, and by the 
Infanta Maria Teresa, her godmother, with the 
ladies of the household. The walls of the chapel 
were covered with costly embroideries, and there 
the venerable font, from which St. Dominic and 
a long line of Castilian princes had been baptized, 
was displayed beneath a canopy of silver. At the 
door the Princess was received by the prelates of 
the kingdom in their pontifical robes, and by the 
Nuncio Cardinal Rospigliosi, who baptized her 
by the name of Maria Margarita, and hung a rich 
reliquary about her neck. The King looked down 
from an upper tribune on this splendid ceremonial ; 
and the rabble cheered the Nuncio, as he passed 
through the streets in his state coach, for his 
numerous retinue and gorgeous liveries. 

A few weeks afterwards, when the Queen was 
able to go abroad, the King ordered a bull feast 
on a magnificent scale for her diversion. This 
national sport was at that time held in the Plaza 
Mayor, a great square, in which regular rows of 
balconies, rising tier above tier to the tops of the 
houses, aflTorded accommodation to a vast con- 


course of spectators. It was pursued by all ranks 
with an ardour, and furnished forth with a luxury 
of equipment unknown to the modern bull-ring. 
Instead of mere hireling combatants, the young 
cavaliers of the Court were wont to enter the lists, 
and display their prowess in the presence of the 
ladies whose colours they wore, and whose favours 
they coveted or enjoyed. Instead of the wretched 
horses whose bowels and collapsed carcases now 
strew the arena at Seville and Madrid, those high- 
born picadors were mounted on the finest steeds 
of Andalusia, and they went attended each by a 
dozen or two of lackeys dressed in his family 
livery. After a sufficient number of bulls had 
fallen beneath the steel of the nobility, the sports 
were closed with cane-plays or tilting-matches 
between two parties of horsemen, a pastime in- 
herited from the Moors* days, and well adapted 
for the acquisition and display of equestrian 

During the next few years Velasquez had little 
time for painting, being busy with his models, 
which were being cast in bronze under his super- 
intendence, and in arranging his Italian bronzes 
and marbles in the halls and galleries of the 
Alcazar. The duties of his new post, which 
alone would have been considered by many men 
as sufficient occupation, likewise engrossed a great 
portion of his time. It brought him into con- 
stant contact with the King, with whom he spent 

•jr "• 


much time alone, and who consulted him on the 
most important aiFairs, and honoured him with an 
almost perilous degree of confidence and favour. 
The consideration in which his influence in the 
royal closet was held at Court was so high that 
a certain great lord, says Palomino, was seriously 
displeased with his son, because he had used some 
warm language towards the Aposentad or- mayor 
for refusing to relax a point of etiquette in his 
favour. " Have you been so foolish,'* said the 
old courtier to the young one, "as to behave 
thus towards a man for whom the King has so 
great a regard, and who converses for whole 
hours with his Majesty ? Go instantly and 
apologise; and do not let me see your face 
again till you have conciliated his friendship." 
In 1656 Velasquez produced his last great 
work, a work which artists, struck by the diffi- 
culties encountered and overcome, have generally 
considered his masterpiece. It is the large pic- 
ture well known in Spain as " Las Meninas^^^ the 
" Maids of Honour." ^ The scene is a long room 
in a quarter of the old palace, which was called 
the Prince's quarter, and the subject Velasquez 
at work on a large picture of the royal family. 
To the extreme right of the composition is seen 
the back of the easel and the canvas on which 
he is engaged ; and beyond it stands the painter 
with his pencils and palette, pausing to converse, 

^ Prado, No. 1062. 


or to observe the effect of his performance. In 
the centre stands the little Infanta Maria Mar- 
garita, taking a cup of water from the salver 
which Dofia Maria Augustina Sarmiento, maid 
of honour to the Queen, presents kneeling. To 
the left Dona Isabel de Velasco, another Menina, 
seems to be dropping a curtsy ; and the dwarfs, 
Maria Barbola and Nicolas Pertusano, stand in 
the foreground, the little man putting his foot 
on the quarters of a great tawny hound, which 
despises the aggression, and continues in a state of 
solemn repose. Some paces behind these figures 
Dona Marcela de Ulloa, a lady of honour in 
nun-like weeds, and a " guardadamas " are seen 
in conversation ; at the far end of the room an 
open door gives a view of a staircase, up which 
Don Joseph Nieto, Queen's Aposentador, is re- 
turning; and near this door there hangs on the 
wall a mirror which, reflecting the countenances 
of the King and Queen, shows that they form part 
of the principal group, although placed beyond the 
bounds of the picture. The room is hung with 
paintings, which Palomino assures us are works 
of Rubens; and it is lighted by three windows 
in the left wall and by the open door at the end, 
an arrangement of which an artist will at once 
comprehend the difficulties. The perfection of 
art which conceals art was never better attained 
than in this picture. Velasquez seems to have 
anticipated the discovery of Daguerre, and taking 


a real room and real chance^rouped people, to 
have fixed them, as it were, by magic for all time 
on his canvas. The little fair-haired Infanta is 
a pleasing study of childhood ; with the hanging 
lip and full cheek of the Austrian family, she has 
a fresh complexion and lovely blue eyes, and gives 
a promise of beauty which, as Empress, she never 
fulfilled. Her young attendants, girls of thir- 
teen or fourteen, contrast agreeably with the ill- 
favoured dwarf beside them : they are very pretty, 
especially Dofia Isabel de Velasco, who died a 
reigning beauty; and their hands are painted 
with peculiar delicacy. Their dresses are highly 
absurd, their figures being concealed by long, stiff 
corsets and prodigious hoops, for these were the 
days when the mode was 

'' Supporters, pooters, fardingales, 
Above the loynes to weare ; " 


the " guardainfante ** was in full blow ; the robes 
of a dowager might have contained the tun of 
Heidelberg ; and the powers of Velasquez were 
baffled by the perverse fancy of " Feeble, the 
woman's tailor.*' The gentle and majestic hound, 
stretching himself and winking drowsily, is admir- 
ably painted, and seems a descendant of the royal 
breed, immortalised by Titian in portraits of the 
Emperor Charles and his son. The painter wears 
at his girdle the omnipotent key of his oflice, and 
on his breast the red cross of Santiago. It is said 


that Philip IV, who came every day with his 
Queen to see the picture, remarked, when it was 
finished, that one thing was yet wanting ; and 
taking up a brush, painted the knightly insignia 
with his own royal fingers, thus conferring the 
accolade with a weapon not recognised in chivalry. 
This pleasing tradition is not altogether over- 
thrown by the fact that Velasquez was not invested 
with the order till three years afterwards ; for the 
production of a pedigree and other formalities were 
necessary to the creation of a knight, obstacles 
which might be overlooked by the King, enrap- 
tured with his new picture, and yet stagger a Col- 
lege of Arms for several years. When Charles II 
showed the ** Meninas " to Luca Giordano, that 
master, in the fulness of his delight and admi- 
ration, declared that it was the Theology of 
Painting — a far-fetched and not very intelligible 
expression,^ which, however, hit the taste of the 
conceit-loving age, and is still often used as a 
name for the picture. The precious sketch of 
this celebrated work was, at the beginning of this 
century, in the possession of the poet and states- 
man Jovellanos.* 

Velasquez, of course, painted several portraits 
of Queen Mariana. The lips and cheeks of that 
princess have the true Austrian fulness ; she bears 

* eye Palomino, vol. iii. p. 51a 

' Now in possession of Ralf Bankes, Esq., Kingston Lacy, 


a considerable resemblance to her husband-cousin, 
and her eyes, like his, are somewhat dull, although 
she was of a joyous disposition, and laughed 
without measure at the sallies of the Court fool. 
When told at such times, by the King, that the act 
of cachination was below the dignity of a Queen 
of Spain, she would artlessly reply that she could 
not help it, and that the fellow must be removed 
if she might not laugh at him. Velasquez has 
not ventured to paint her in these merry moments ; 
and his pencil has even recorded her expression as 
somewhat sullen. She was also sadly addicted to 
the rouge-pot, which she did not manage with the 
artistic science of Isabella. Her chief beauty was 
her rich fair hair, which she bedizened with red 
ribbons and feathers, and plaited and dressed, after 
the most fantastic modes of the day, until her 
giddy young head rivalled her unwieldy hoop in 
its tumid extravagance. Of her absurdities in 
costume, one of her portraits by Velasquez, in 
the Royal Gallery at Madrid, affords sufficient evi- 
dence.* Another represents her kneeling at prayer 
in her oratory,* the most dressy of devotees, robed, 
rouged, and curled, as if for a Court ball, and 
serves as a companion piece to a similar praying 
portrait of the King. Velasquez likewise painted 
this Queen on a small round plate of silver, about 
the size of a dollar piece, showing that he could 
use the pencil of a miniature-painter as dexter- 

* No. 1079. * No. 1082. 


ously as the coarse brush of Herrera. The Infanta 
Maria Margarita, the heroine of the ** Meninas," 
was one of his most frequent sitters. Of his many 
portraits of her, the full-length in the Prado Gal- 
lery, and the smiling sparkling head in the salon 
carre of the Louvre, are amongst the most excel- 
lent.^ His last recorded works were full-length 
pictures of this Infanta and her short-lived brother 
Don Philip Prosper, executed for their grand- 
father the Emperor. In that of the Infanta, 
he introduced an ebony clock, ornamented with 
figures of bronze ; and in that of the baby-prince, 
a favourite little dog of his own.* 

From 1656 to the end of his life the occupa- 
tions of Velasquez seldom allowed him to enjoy 
the tranquillity of his studio. In that year he was 
employed to superintend the arrangement of a 
quantity of pictures in the Escorial. This collec- 
tion consisted of forty-one pieces purchased from 
the Whitehall Gallery, some of which he had him- 
self brought from Italy, and of others presented to 
the King by the Count of Castrillo, an ex- Viceroy 
of Naples. Having placed them to the best advan- 
tage in the palace-convent, he drew up a catalogue 
of the whole, noting the position, painter, history, 
and merits of each picture, a paper which probably 
guided Fray Francisco de las Santos in his descrip- 
tion of the Escorial, and may perhaps still exist in 
the royal archives. In 1658 he began to design 

* 1731 Louvre. • In the gallery of Vienna. 


works for Colonna and Mitel li, and direct their 
execution ; a commission in which he was assisted, 
or perhaps hindered, by the Duke of Terranova, 
intendant of royal works. The year following he 
was again at the Escorial, watching the consign- 
ment of Tacca's Crucifixion to its place over the 
altar of the Pantheon. He also contemplated 
another trip to Italy, but the King could not be 
induced to part with him.* 

In the same year, 1659, ^^^ Marechal Duke of 
Grammont appeared at Madrid, as Ambassador 
from France, to negotiate the marriage of Louis 
XIV and the Infanta Maria Teresa ; he and his 
suite, at their solemn entrance, galloping into the 
very vestibule of the palace, dressed as couriers, 
to signify the impatience of the royal lover. On 
the 29th of October Velasquez was ordered to 
attend on this French magnate and his sons during 
a morning visit to the Alcazar, for the purpose of 
seeing the pictures and marbles. It is probable 
that he may likewise have been their guide to the 
galleries of the grandees, which they explored, and 
amongst which was that of the Count of Ofiate, 
who had lately returned from Naples, laden with 
artistic purchases or plunder. The Marechal, at his 
departure, presented Velasquez with a gold watch.^ 

He soon afterwards obtained leave to wear his 
well-earned cross of Santiago. By a rescript, dated 
the 1 2th of June 1658, the King had already 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 511. ' Ibid., vol. iii. p. 581. 


conferred on him the habit of the order; and 
Velasquez soon after laid his pedigree before the 
Marquess of Tabara, president of the order. A 
flaw in this document, or some other circum- 
stances, made it necessary to apply to Pope Alex- 
ander VII for a bull, which was not obtained till 
the 7th October 1659. It is related that the King, 
growing impatient, sent for Tabara and the docu- 
ments which he held, and said, ** Place it on record 
that the evidence satisfies me." On the 28th of 
November the patent was made out ; and on the 
28th, being St. Prosper's Day, which was held as a 
festival in honour of the birth of the Prince of 
Asturias, Velasquez was installed as a knight of 
Santiago. The ceremony took place in the church 
of the Carbonera ; when the new companion was 
introduced by the Marquess of Malpica, as sponsor, 
and was invested with the insignia by Don Caspar 
Perez de Guzman, Count of Niebla, heir of 
Medina -Sid onia. 

The peace and projected alliance between the 
crowns of France and Spain doubled the official 
fatigues and shortened the life of Velasquez. A 
meeting of the two Courts, to celebrate the 
nuptials of Louis XIV and the Infanta Maria 
Teresa, was fixed to take place in the summer of 
1660 on the Isle of Pheasants, in the river 
Bidassoa. This celebrated spot was reckoned 
neutral ground by the French, whilst the Spaniards 
claimed it for their own, alleging that a change 


in the stream's channel had cut it ofF from the 
realms of Pelayo. The river, eating it slowly 
away, has now left little ground for argument or 
for conference. Let the traveller, therefore, as 
he rolls along the bridge that unites France with 
Spain, glance down the stream at the reedy patch 
that yet remains of the most interesting river-islet 
in Europe. Here Louis XI, with a good store 
of pistoles in the pockets of his frieze coat, 
adjudicated on the affairs and bribed the courtiers 
of Henry IV of Castile, who came glittering in 
cloth of gold. Here, or at least in an adjacent 
barge, Francis I, leaving the land of bondage, 
embraced his sons, who were going thither as 
hostages for his observance of a treaty which he 
had already determined to break, and here he 
proposed to meet Charles V in personal duello. 
Here Isabella of Valois received the first homage 
of her Castilian lieges, and a few years later wept 
her last farewell to her brothers and to France. 
Here Anne of Austria and Isabella of Bourbon 
crossed on the road to their foreign thrones ; and 
here, but a few months before, Jules de Mazarin 
and Luis de Haro had mingled their crocodile tears 
and practised every pass of diplomatic fence over the 
famous Treaty of the Pyrenees. For the conferences 
of those statesmen there had been erected a pavilion 
of timber, furnished with two doors and two chairs 
of the most exact and scrupulous equality. 

But the meeting of their Catholic and Christian 


masters demanded greater preparation, and in 
March 1660 Velasquez was sent forward to the 
frontier to superintend the construction of a 
suitable edifice. His orders were to take the 
Burgos road and to leave Josef de Villareal, one 
of his deputies, in that city, whilst he himself 
hastened to the Bidassoa to erect the pavilion and 
to prepare the castle of Fuentarabia for the recep- 
tion of royalty. These tasks accomplished, he 
was to await the King's arrival at San Sebastian. 
In that city he appears to have resided during these 
busy days, and he was sometimes accompanied by 
the governor, Baron de Batevilla,* in his visits of 
inspection to his works. 

The Pheasants* Isle was at this time about 500 
feet long by 70 broad. The Aposentador*s new 
building, extending from west to east, consisted 
of a range of pavilions one storey high and up- 
wards of 300 feet in length. In the centre rose 
the hall of conference, flanked by wings, each 
containing a suite of four chambers, in which 
equal measure of accommodation was meted with 
the nicest justice to France and Spain. Along 
each front of the edifice ran an entrance portico, 
communicating, by means of a covered gallery, 
with a bridge of boats, whereby the monarchs 
were to make their approach each from his own 
territory. Within, the apartments were as gor- 
geous as gilding and rich arras could make them. 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 522. 


Velasquez, it appears, superintended the decora- 
tions on the Spanish side only, as far as the centre 
of the hall of conference. The same style of 
adornment, however, prevailed throughout, the 
walls being covered with tissue of silk and gold 
and with fine tapestries, representing histories 
sacred and profane, the building of the ark of 
Noah and the city of Romulus, or the adventures 
of Orpheus and St. Paul. The French decorators 
had a leaning to the lays and legends of Greece 
and Rome, and the tapestries on their side of the 
great hall recorded the feats of Scipio and 
Hannibal and the Metamorphoses of Ovid, while 
the hangings of the graver Spaniards revealed the 
mysteries of the Apocalypse. 

The upholstery work, better suited to the 
capacities of a carpenter or of a lord-in-waiting, 
was not the most fatiguing part of the task im- 
posed on Velasquez. As Aposentador it was his 
business to find lodging for the King and Court 
along the whole road from Madrid. Even with 
the assistance of Villareal and of Mazo Martinez, 
who also accompanied him, this must have been 
an undertaking that required time and labour, for 
Philip IV travelled with a train of Oriental 
magnitude. On the 15th of April, having made 
his will and commended himself to Our Lady of 
Atocha, that monarch set out from the capital, 
accompanied by the Infanta and followed by three 
thousand five hundred mules, eighty-two horses. 


seventy coaches, and seventy baggage waggons. 
The baggage of the royal bride alone would have 
served for a small army. Her dresses were packed 
in twelve large trunks covered with crimson 
velvet and mounted with silver, twenty morocco 
trunks contained her linen, and fifty mules were 
laden with her toilette plate and perfumes. 
Besides these personal equipments she carried a 
vast provision of presents, amongst which were 
two chests filled with purses, amber gloves, and 
whisker cases for Monsieur, her future brother- 
in-law. The grandees of the household vied 
with each other in the size and splendour of their 
retinues. The cavalcade extended six leagues in 
length, and the trumpets of the van were sounding 
at the gate of Alcala de Henares, the first day's 
halting-place, ere the last files had issued from 
the gate of Madrid. The whole journey through 
Burgos and Vittoria was a triumph and a revel. 
At Guadalaxara the royal travellers lodged in the 
noble palace of the Mendozas ; at Lerma, in that 
of the Sandovals; at Bribiesca, in that of the 
Velascos. Grandees and municipal bodies lavished 
vast sums on bull feasts and fireworks for their 
entertainment ; prelates did the honours of their 
noble cathedrals; abbots came forth with their 
most holy reliques ; bonfires blazed on the savage 
crags of Pancorvo ; the burghers of Mondragon 
turned out under arms which their forefathers 
had borne against Pedro the Cruel ; peasants of 


Guipuzcoa danced their strange sword-dances with 
loyal vigour before their King ; and the Ronces- 
valles, hugest of galleons, floated for his inspec- 
tion, and stunned his ears with salutes in the 
waters of Passages. After three weeks of repose 
at St. Sebastian, the Court repaired on the 2nd of 
June to Fuentarabia, the King of France and the 
Queen-Mother having already arrived at their 
frontier town of St. Jean de Luz. 

The next day the Infanta solemnly adjured 
those rights to the Spanish crown, which were so 
successfully asserted by her grandson ; and on the 
3rd she was married to Haro, as proxy of the 
French King, by the Bishop of Pamplona, in 
the old Church of Our Lady. On the 5 th of 
June the Pavilion of Velasquez was inaugurated 
by the private interview between the Queen- 
Mother of France and her brother and niece, 
the King of Spain and the Infanta. On this occa- 
sion Louis insisted, to the great admiration of the 
Spaniards, on looking on unseen, and thus first 
beheld his bride. The day following took place 
the formal conference of all the royal personages, 
when the two kings signed and swore to the 
treaty, and afterwards held a joint Court, where 
Mazarin presented the French nobles to Philip 
and Haro introduced the Castilians to Louis. The 
parting gifts sent by the latter to his father-in-law 
— a diamond badge of the golden fleece, a watch 
encrusted with brilliants, and other kingly toys — 


were conveyed to him by the hands of Velasquez.* 
On the 7 th of June the royal personages again 
met to take leave, and Philip bade farewell for 
ever to his sister and his child. 

During the week which the Courts of Spain 
and France passed on the frontier of the king- 
doms, the banks of the Bidassoa furnished scenes 
worthy of the pencil of Titian and the pen of 
Scott, and its island pavilion historical groups 
such as romance has rarely assembled. There 
was Philip IV, forty years a king, with his proud 
and regal port, which neither infirmity, nor grief, 
nor misfortune had been able to subdue, and 
Louis XIV in the dawn of his fame and the 
flower of his beauty. There were two queens, both 
daughters of Austria, in whom also grey experience 
was contrasted with the innocence of youth, and 
whose lives exemplify the vicissitudes of high place; 
Anne, by turns a neglected consort, an imperious 
regent, and a forgotten exile ; and Maria Teresa, 
the most amiable of Austrian princesses, who, 
though eclipsed in her own Court and in her 
husband's affections, aspired in an age of universal 
gallantry to no higher praise than the name of a 
loving mother and a true and gentle wife. The 
Italian Cardinal was there, upon whom the mantle 
of Richelieu had fallen, with his broken form but 
keen eye, that read in the new alliance the future 
glory of France and Mazarin ; the cool, wily 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 522. 


Haro, in his new honours as Prince of the Peace, 
a title which so well became the ablest minister and 
worst captain of Castile ; Turenne, fresh from his 
great victory at the Dunes ; the old Marechal de 
Villeroy and the young Duke of Crequi ; Medina 
de las Torres, the model and mirror of grandees ; 
young Guiche, with his romantic air, the future 
hero of a hundred amours and of the passage of 
the Rhine ; Monterey and Heliche ; and a noble 
throng of des Noailles and d'Harcourts, Guz- 
mans, and Toledos. There, too, was the Aposen- 
tador and painter of the King of Spain, Diego 
Velasquez. Although no longer young, he was 
distinguished, even in that proud assemblage, by 
his fine person and tasteful attire. Over a dress 
richly laced with silver, he wore the usual Cas- 
tilian rufF and a short cloak embroidered with 
the red cross of Santiago ; the badge of the order, 
sparkling with brilliants, was suspended from his 
neck by a gold chain ; and the scabbard and hilt 
of his sword were of silver, exquisitely chased, 
and of Italian workmanship. 

The rejoicings which celebrated the royal mar- 
riage were worthy of the two most sumptuous 
Courts of Europe, now vying with each other 
in pomp and magnificence. 


To tell the glory of the feast each day, 

The goodly service, the deviceful sights, 

The bridegroom's state, the bride's most rich array, 

The royal banquets and the rare delight! 

Were work fit for an herald." 


The mornings were dedicated to the exchange of 
visits and compliments ; the evenings to brilliant 
revelry. The hills re-echoed the roar of cannon 
from Fuentarabia and St. Jean de Luz ; gay caval- 
cades swept along the green meadows beneath the 
poplar-crowned brow of Irun ; and gilded barges 
and bands of music floated all day on the bosom 
of the Bidassoa. The Spaniards marvelled at 
the vivid attire of the French gallants and at the 
short tails of their horses. The Frenchmen, on 
their side, shrugged their shoulders at the sad- 
coloured suits of the Spaniards, and envied the 
profusion and splendour of their jewels. But if 
the grandees were outdone by the seigneurs in 
brilliancy of costume, the lackeys of Madrid out- 
blazed their brethren of Paris; on each of the 
three great days they appeared in fresh liveries; 
and the servants of Medina de las Torres wore 
the value of 40,000 ducats on their backs. 

At daybreak on the 8th of June the King sent 
the Count of Punorostro for the last tidings of 
the young Queen of France. On the same morn- 
ing he and his train set forth from the castle of 
Fuentarabia. In this journey he was attended by 
Velasquez, who sent forward his deputy Villareal 
to prepare quarters on the road. On the 15th 
of June they reached Burgos, where they attended 
a solemn service in the superb cathedral, and wit- 
nessed a grand procession of the clergy. From 
thence they struck into a new road, and meeting 


by the way with the usual honours and acclama- 
tions, entered the city of Valladolid on the 1 8th, 
and reposed there for four days in the spacious 
palace of the Crown, the birthplace of Philip IV. 
Here the King visited his pleasant gardens on 
the banks of the Pisuerga ; was entertained with 
fireworks on the water ; saw the nobles of the city 
display their prowess at the cane-play and in the 
slaughter of bulls, and their wit and magnificence 
at a masquerade ; paid his adorations at the shrine 
of Our Lady of San Llorente ; attended a comedy ; 
and looked down from a balcony of the palace on 
a " Mogiganga " — a game in which the performers 
came disguised as Gogs and Magc^s, wild beasts, 
and fabulous monsters. He likewise went on 
foot to hear mass in the conventual Church of St. 
Paul, his place of baptism, a splendid temple, rich 
with memorials of the artists of Valladolid. Here, 
doubtless, Velasquez did not fail to examine the 
fine works, with which the city then teemed, fof 
Becerra, Juni, and Hernandez. On the 26th 
of June his Majesty embraced the Queen and 
the young Infanta at the Casa del Campo, and 
gave thanks for his safe return to his capital at 
the shrine of Our Lady of Atocha. 

The restoration of Velasquez to his family and 
friends was to them a matter of no less surprise 
than joy. A report of his death had preceded 
him to Madrid, and he found them bewailing his 
untimely end. He returned in tolerable health, 


although much fatigued with his journey ; but 
the tongue of rumour had spoken in the spirit 
of prophecy ; his worldly work was done ; and 
fate forbade the pageant of the Pheasants* Isle to 
be recorded by his inimitable pencil. He con- 
tinued, however, to go about his daily business 
and to perform his official functions at the palace ; 
and it was probably at this time that he drew the 
notice of the King to the clever models in clay, 
sent from Valencia for his inspection, by the 
sculptor Morelli. 

On the 31st of July, on the Feast of St. Ignatius 
Loyola, having been in attendance from early morn- 
ing on his Majesty, he felt feverish and unwell ; 
and retiring to his apartments in the palace, laid 
himself on the bed from whence he was to rise no 
more. The symptoms of his malady, spasmodic 
affections in the stomach and the region of the 
heart, accompanied by raging thirst, so alarmed 
his physician, Viccncio Moles, that he called in the 
Court doctors, Alva and Chavarri. Those learned 
persons discovered the name of the disease, which 
they called a syncopal tertian fever ; but they were 
less successful in devising a remedy. No improve- 
ment appearing in the state of their patient, the 
King sent to his bedside, as spiritual adviser, Don 
Alfonso Perez de Guzman, Patriarch of the Indies, 
who but a few weeks before had shared with the 
dying artist in the pomps of the Isle of Pheasants. 
Velasquez now saw that his end was come. He 


signed his will, and appointed as his sole executors, 
his wife, Donna Juana Pacheco, and his friend, Don 
Caspar de Fuensalida, Keeper of the Royal Records, 
and, having received the last sacraments of the 
Church, he breathed his last at two o'clock in the 
afternoon on Friday, 6th of August 1660, in 
the sixty-first year of his age. 


(i 588-1656) 

A FAIR field of art awaits us at Valencia. Xativa, 
an ancient town of that delicious region hung 
amongst cypresses and palms on a hill overlook- 
ing the vale of the Guadamar, the cradle of the 
Borgias, and so faithful in the war of the succes- 
sion to the house of Austria that the victorious 
Bourbon changed its name to San Felipe, is also 
notable as the birthplace of the painter Jos6 de 
Ribera. Neapolitan writers have claimed him as 
a native of Gallipoli on the Gulf of Otranto, and 
they assert that he was the son of a Spanish officer 
of its fortress by a wife of that place, and that 
his practice of writing himself on his pictures, 
Spaniard of Xativa, arose from mere vainglory, 
and a desire to show that by blood, at least, he 
belonged to the ruling nation. Cean Bermudez, 
however, has set the question at rest by discover- 
ing the register of his baptism, by which it appears 
that he was born at Xativa on the 1 2th of January 
1588, and that his parents were named Luis 
Ribera and Margarita Gil. They sent him, in his 
boyhood, to be educated for a learned profession 

at the University of Valencia, which, however, the 



bent of his inclination led him to forsake for the 
school of Francisco Ribalta. His youthful talents 
there obtained for him some distinction, and some 
of his works of this period were said, although on 
doubtful authority, to hang in the library of the 
convent of the Temple. 

By what means he found his way to Italy 
history does not inform us; but it is certain 
that he was at Rome at a very early age and in 
a very destitute condition, subsisting on crusts 
and clad in rags, and endeavouring to improve 
himself in art by copying the frescoes on the 
fafades of palaces or at the shrines at the corners 
of streets. His indigence and his industry attract- 
ing the notice of a compas^onate cardinal, who 
from his coach window happened to see him at 
work, that dignitary provided him with clothes 
and with food and lodging in his own palace. 
Ribera, however, needed the spur of want to 
arouse him to exertion ; he found that to be clad 
in decent raiment and to fare plentifully every 
day weakened his powers of application, and there- 
fore, after a short trial of a life in clover, beneath 
the shelter of the purple, he returned to his 
poverty and to his studies in the streets. The 
benevolent cardinal was at first highly incensed 
at his departure, and when he next saw him 
rated him soundly as an ungrateful little Spaniard ; 
but being informed of his motives and observing 
his diligence, he admired his stoical resolution 


and renewed his offers of protection, which, how- 
ever, Ribera thankfully declined. This adven- 
ture and his abilities soon distinguished him 
amongst the crowd of young artists ; he became 
known by the name which still belongs to him, 
II Spagnoletto, and as an imitator of Michael 
Angelo . Caravaggio, the bold handling of whose 
works, and their powerful effects of light and 
shade, pleased his strong but somewhat coarse 
mind. But he also copied several works of 
Raphael, and carefully studied the works of the 
Caracci in the Farnese palace with much benefit, as 
he himself confessed, to his style. Having scraped 
a little money together, he likewise visited Parma 
and Modena to examine the masterpieces of 
Correggio, with which those cities abounded ; 
and some of the Spaniard's subsequent works, 
those in the chapel of Sta. Maria Bianca, in the 
Church of the Incurables at Naples, were con- 
sidered by the critics as admirable imitations of 
the soft Correggiesque style. 

Finding Rome overstocked with artists and 
having had a quarrel with Domenichino, which, 
perhaps, rendered it unpleasant for him to remain 
in the same city, he determined to remove to 
Naples. His purse at this time was so low that 
he was obliged to leave his cloak in pawn at his 
inn in order to clear his score or to obtain money 
for the journey. It was probably in the southern 
capital that he became the scholar of Caravaggio, 

^ i 


a ruffianly painter of ruffians, who had fled thither 
to escape punishment for a homicide which he 
had perpetrated at Rome. He cannot, however, 
have been very long benefited by the instruction 
or depraved by the example of this master, who 
spent the latter portion of his turbulent life at 
Malta, and escaped from deserved durance in 
that island only to die of a sunstroke in 1609. 
Fortune now began to smile upon him and 
threw him in the way of a rich picture-dealer, 
who gave him some employment, and was so 
charmed with his genius that he offered him his 
beautiful and well-dowered daughter in marriage. 
The Valencian, being no less proud than poor, at 
first resented the proposal as an unseasonable 
pleasantry upon his forlorn condition; but at 
last, finding that it was made in good faith, he 
took the good the gods provided, and at once 
stepped out of solitary indigence into the posses- 
sion of a fair wife, a comfortable home, a present 
field of profitable labour, and a prospect of future 

Ease and prosperity now rather stimulated than 
relaxed his exertions. Choosing for his subject 
the "Flaying of St. Bartholomew," he painted that 
horrible martyrdom, in a composition with figures 1 
of life-size, with a fidelity to nature so accurate / ^ 
and frightful that when exposed to the public in / ^^^ 
the street — perhaps at the door of the picture- / 
dealer — it immediately attracted a crowd of shud- / 


dering gazers. The place of exhibition being 
within view of the royal palace, the eccentric 
Viceroy, Don Pedro Giron, Duke of Osuna, who 
chanced to be taking the air on his balcony, in- 
quired the cause of the unusual concourse, and 
ordered the picture and the artist to be brought 
into his presence. Being well pleased with both, 
he bought the one for his own gallery and ap- 
pointed the other his Court painter, with a monthly 
salary of sixty doubloons, and the superintendence 
of all decorations in the palace. 

The Neapolitans were equally astonished and 
chagrined at the promotion of their Spagnoletto, 
and began to stand in awe of his well-known arro- 
gance and malice, which they had formerly derided 
or resented. Looking upon him as the possessor 
of the Viceroy's ear, they immediately began to ply 
him with gifts and adulation. He was soon at 
the head of a faction of painters, that endeavoured, 
by intrigue and violence, and for a while with 
signal success, to command a monopoly of public 
favour. Amongst these, Belisario Corenzio, by 
birth a Greek and a scholar of the Cavaliere 
d'Arpino, was pre-eminent in audacity and address. 
His impudent deprecations of a Madonna, painted 
by Annibale Caracci for a new church of the 
Jesuits, induced those tasteless fathers to transfer 
a large commission for pictures from that artist 
to himself ; and his persecutions finally drove the 
great Bolognese from Naples, and caused him to 


undertake the fatal journey to Rome in the dog- 
days, which ended in his death. By fawning on 
Ribera and by giving him sumptuous dinners, he 
obtained the place of painter to the Viceroy, an 
honour which he might have honourably attained 
by means of his pencil. Gianbattista Caracciolo, 
a native Neapolitan and a tolerable imitator of the 
style of Annibale Caracci, relying on his favour 
with the nobility, at first withstood the Valencian 
and Greek usurpers, but, finding himself overborne 
by their superior interest, at length consented to 
join their villanies. 

The conspiracy of these three miscreants to get 
themselves employed to paint the great chapel of 
St. Januarius is one of the most curious and 
disgraceful passages in the history of Italian art. 
Like warring priests, they conceived that a pious 
end justified the use. of the basest means. They 
hesitated not at fraud, violence, or murder in 
order to obtain an occasion of preaching, by 
the silent eloquence of the pencil, the truths 
and the charities of the Christian faith. The 
chapel is that sumptuous portion of the cathe- 
dral of Naples known as the Treasury, rich in 
marble and gold, and, in the opinion of the 
faithful, yet richer in its two celebrated flasks 
of the congealed blood of St. Januarius. The 
commissioners to whom the selection of the 
artists was left seem to have been men of some 
taste, but still greater timidity. They first en- 


trusted the task to the Cavaliere d'Arpino, then 
at work at the Certosa of Naples. Him Ribera 
and his crew immediately assailed with all kinds 
of persecution, and at last drove him to take 
shelter with the Benedictines of Monte Cassino. 
Guido was next chosen. His servant was, soon 
after, soundly thrashed by two hired bravos, and 
ordered to tell his master that the same treat- 
ment was in store for himself if he laid a brush 
upon the walls of St. Januarius; a hint which 
drove him also from the city. The dangerous 
honour was then accepted by Gessi, an able 
scholar of Guido. He arrived at Naples with 
two assistants, named Ruggieri and Menini, who 
were soon afterwards inveigled on board a galley 
in the bay and were never more heard of. The 
commissioners now gave in ; they allotted the 
frescoes of the chapel to the Greek and Nea- 
politan ruffians, Corenzio and Caracciolo, and the 
altar-pieces to the Spaniard, who actually com- 
menced their labours. But, either because they 
had discovered the guilt of these wretches, or 
because they repented of the choice from motives 
of taste, or from mere caprice, the commissioners 
again changed their minds, and, with a levity 
worthy of their former pusillanimity, ordered the 
faction to desist and to make way for Domeni- 
chino. Foreseeing the danger to which he would 
be exposed, his employers offered him a handsome 
remuneration, and they obtained from the Viceroy 


an idle menace against any one who should molest 
him. The triumvirate, enraged at their discom- 
fiture, were now more inveterate and more active 
than ever. No sooner had the unfortunate 
Domenichino taken possession of the field than 
they commenced their offensive operations. They 
harassed him with anonymous letters full of dark 
hints and threats ; they slandered his character ; 
they bribed the plasterers to mix ashes with the 
mortar on which his frescoes were to be painted. 
Ribera persuaded the Viceroy to order certain 
pictures of the poor artist, and treacherously 
carried them off before his slow and fastidious 
hand had brought them to perfection, or re- 
touched and ruined them before they met the 
great man's eye. Growing desperate, the victim, 
who was now somewhat old and corpulent, retired 
from the contest and nearly killed himself by a 
gallop to Rome ; but in an evil hour, being per- 
suaded to return, he resumed his labours and his 
miseries, and soon after died of a broken heart, 
not without suspicion of poison, in 1 64 1 . It is a 
satisfaction to know that the conspirators did not, 
after all, gain possession of the chapel, for which 
they had fought with so much wicked energy. 
The Neapolitan died in the same year as Domeni- 
chino ; the Greek, already an old man, two years 
later. The Valencian painted only a single altar- 
piece, a grand composition, on a subject well 
suited to his gloomy genius, and representing 


St. Januarius led by the tormentors to the furnace, 
whence he came out unscathed, like a second 
Daniel, at Nola, in the days of Diocletian. Lan- 
franco executed the fine frescoes of the dome 
and finished the chapel ; and thus an artist, who, 
although a friend, does not seem to have been an 
accomplice of the faction, reaped the chief benefit 
of its crime. 

The Neapolitans, who hated Ribera for his 
country and for his arrogance with true Italian 
hatred, have a tradition which brings his story to 
a close with somewhat of poetical justice. When 
Don Juan of Austria came to Naples in 1648, 
they say that the Valencian entertained him at an 
ostentatious musical party, and that he became 
enamoured of Maria Rosa, the painter's eldest 
daughter, who was remarkable for her beauty and 
grace. Dancing with her at balls and visiting her 
under pretence of admiring her father's pictures, 
the prince sighed and the maiden yielded ; he 
carried her to Sicily, and when his passion was 
cloyed, he placed her in a convent at Palermo. 
Stung with shame, the father sank into profound 
melancholy; he retired to a house at Posilipo, 
where he and his wife spent the time in conjugal 
strife and recrimination on the subject of their 
disaster ; and, finally, he forsook his family and 
disappeared from Naples, leaving his end a 

The story is treated as a mere fable by Cean 






Bermudez, who, departing from his usual candour, 
is silent as to the misdeeds of his countryman. 
According to him, the life of the Valencian at 
Naples glided on in an uninterrupted flow of 
prosperity. The unknown adventurer, who had 
stolen into the city without a cloak to his back 
or a real in his pocket, occupied sumptuous apart- 
ments in the Viceregal palace; he maintained a 
large retinue of liveried lackeys ; and his wife 
took the air in her coach with a waiting gentle- 
man to attend upon her, like the proudest dame 
that glittered in the Strada di Toledo. Six hours 
each morning he devoted to the labours of the 
pencil ; the rest of the day was given to the 
pleasures of life, to visiting or receiving the best 
company of Naples. Whatever were his quarrels 
with Italian artists, he was always on excellent 
terms with the Spanish Viceroys. Each successor 
of Osuna — Alba, the art-loving Monterey, Arcos, 
sumptuous Medina de las Torres, stern Oiiate — 
was, in turn, his friend and munificent patron. 
In 1630 the Roman Academy of St. Luke en- 
rolled him amongst its members. In 1644 
Innocent X sent the cross of the Order of Christ 
to the perpetrator or instigator of crimes which 
merited the galleys. And in 1656 he died at 
Naples, in the enjoyment of riches, honours, and 

Ribcra seems to have been a man of consider- 
able social talent, lively in conversation, and deal- 


ing in playful wit and amusing sarcasm. His 
Neapolitan biographer relates that two Spanish 
officers, visiting at his house one day, entered 
upon a serious discussion upon alchemy. The 
host, finding their talk somewhat tedious, gravely 
informed them that he himself happened to be 
in possession of the philosopher's stone, and that 
they might, if they pleased, see his way of using 
it next morning at his studio. The military 
adepts were punctual at the appointment, and 
found their friend at work, not in a mysterious 
laboratory, but at his easel on a half-length 
picture of St. Jerome. Entreating them to re- 
strain their eagerness, he painted steadily on, 
finished his picture, sent it out by his servant, 
and received a small rouleau in return. This he 
broke open in the presence of his visitors, and 
throwing ten golden doubloons on the table, said, 
" Learn of me how gold is to be made ; I do it 
by painting, you by serving His Majesty: diligence 
in business is the true alchemy.** The officers 
departed somewhat crestfallen, neither relishing 
the jest nor reaping much benefit from the 
enunciation of a precept which, doubtless, had 
ever been the rule of their predatory practice at 

Although the Spagnoletto was diminutive in 
stature — whence his popular appellation — he 
possessed considerable personal advantages ; his 
complexion was dark, his features well-formed 


and pleasing, and his air and presence befitted the 
great name which he bore. His portrait — toler- 
ably engraved by Alegre, in which he has depicted 
himself with flowing cavalier-like locks, and hold- 
ing in his hand a sketch of a grotesque head — is 
widely known by prints. The name of his rich 
wife was Leonora Cortese, or Cortes ; she loved 
to display her charms and her finery at the gala 
and the revel ; and she bore her husband five chil- 
dren, two of whom died in infancy. Their son, 
Antonio, lived the easy life of a private gentleman, 
in the enjoyment of his father*s gains ; their two 
daughters, Maria Rosa and Annicca, were both 
remarkable for their beauty, and the latter became 
the wife of Don Tommaso Manzano, who held an 
appointment in the War Ofllice. Ribera did not 
remain contented all his life with his apartments 
in the viceregal palace ; and his last house was a 
spacious and sumptuous mansion in front of the 
Church of St. Francis Xavier, and at the corner 
of the Strada di Nardo, which afterwards became 
the residence of his fortunate scholar, Luca Gior- 
dano. Of the disciples of the Valencian, none 
more successfully imitated his style than Giovanni 
D6, whose works were frequently confounded with 
his ; and Aniello Falcone, the battle-painter, and 
the great Salvator Rosa himself, likewise received 
instruction in his school. 

Few Italian artists are better known in Italy 
than Ribera. At Naples no new church with any 


pretensions to splendour, no convent with any 
character for taste, was thought complete without 
some of his gloomy studies. The Jesuits employed 
him largely in their stately temples dedicated to 
Jesus and St. Francis Xavier ; for the Carthusians 
he painted a celebrated ** Descent from the Cross"; 
noble votaries of St. Januarius adorned their 
palaces with his pictures of that holy and incom- 
bustible being ; and his scraggy, sackcloth-girt 
St. Jeromes and red-eyed St. Peters were scattered 
over the whole wilderness of Neapolitan shrines. 
y ^ ' In Spain he was held in almost equal honour, and 
his works were more widely diffused than those 
of Velasquez himself. Philip IV being one of his 
most constant patrons, his works abounded at the 
Escorial and the Alcazar, and were also fashion- 
able in the churches and convents of Madrid. 
The nuns of Sta. Isabel hung over their high altar 
one of his Virgins of the Conception, in which 
they caused Claudio Coello to re-paint the head, 
because they had heard the scandal about Don 
Juan of Austria, and believed their Immaculate 
Lady to be a portrait of the peccant Maria Rosa. 
Salamanca possessed a number of his pictures in 
the fine nunnery built out of the spoils of pro- 
vinces by Monterey, for whom they were painted. 
Specimens of his pencil were likewise to be found 
at Vittoria and Granada, Cordova, Valladolid and 

His ordinary style is familiar to all Europe. 


At St. Petersburg, as well as at Madrid, it is 

proverbial how 

'* Spagnoletto tainted 
His brush with all the blood of all the sainted/' 

No Van Huysum ever lingered over the dewy 
breast of a rose or the downy wing of a tiger- 
moth, no Vanderwerf ever dwelt on the ivory 
limbs of Ariadne, with more fondness than was 
displayed by Ribera in elaborating the wrinkles 
of St. Anthony the Hermit, or the blood-stained 
bosom of the martyr Sebastian, bristling with the 
shafts of Diocletian's archers. His strength lay in ^ 
the delineation of anatomy, his pleasure in seizing 
the exact expression of the most hideous pain. 
" St. Bartholomew Flayed Alive," now in the Prado 
Gallery,^ is a masterpiece of horror, too frightful to 
be remembered without a shudder. Of *'Ixion 
on the Wheel,*' in the Royal Gallery of Madrid,^ 
the tale is told, that being bought for a large 
price by Burgomaster UiFel of Amsterdam, it so 
wrought on the imagination of his good dame 
in her pregnancy, that she brought forth a babe 
with hands incurably clenched, like those of Juno's 
lover in the picture. The shocked parents im- 
mediately got rid of their Ixion ; it was carried 
back to Italy, and, in time, found its way to the 
royal collection in Spain.^ It is a curious example 
of the perversity of the human mind, that sub- 

* No. 991. ■ No. 1005. 

' Palomino, vol. iii. p. 464. No. 1005. 


jects like these should have been the chosen 
recreations of an eye that opened in infancy on 
the palms and the fair women of Valencia, and 
rested for half a lifetime on the splendours of the 
Bay of Naples. The jealous, implacable Spaniard 
was indeed cursed with the evil eye, seeing fright- 
ful visions in the midst of sunshine and beauty — 

" Omnia suffuscans mortis nigrore." 

He did not, however, always paint in this 
savage and revolting style. At the Escorial there 
is a large picture by him of Jacob watering the 
flock of Laban, in which the figure of the Shep- 
herd-patriarch is remarkable for its dignity and 
grace. The Cathedral of Valencia has an " Adora- 
tion of the Shepherds," a subject which he often 
painted, wherein the dark-eyed mother of God 
is a model of calm and stately beauty.^ But per- 
haps the picture which best displays the vigour of 
his pencil is that of *' Jacob*s Dream ** in the Prado 
Gallery.* The composition consists of nothing 
more than a way-worn monk, in his brown frock, 
lying asleep beneath a stump of a tree with his 
head pillowed on a stone ; whilst the phantom- 
ladder and a few angel shapes are dimly indicated 
afar off in the clouds, merely to give a name to 
the picture. The deep slumber of weariness was 
never more exactly represented; you pause in- 
stinctively in approaching the sleeper, and tread 

* Now in the Louvre, No. 1721. * No. 912. 


softly ; you think you see his bosom heave, and 
hear his measured respiration. 

Ribera painted portraits in a style which few 
artists have excelled. In the National Museum 
at Madrid there is a full-length picture of the 
Duke of Modena, doubtless the friend and sitter 
of Velasquez — a handsome, olive-complexioned 
prince, in a suit of black velvet and an ample black 
cloak ; and a half-length of a military commander, 
in a buff coat, and with spectacles of the most 
modish magnitude on his nose ; both ascribed to 
his pencil, and executed with a force and spirit 
which is worthy of the great master of Castile, 
and renders his atrabilious jealousy of other 
artists quite unaccountable and inexcusable. His 
sketches, executed with the pen or with red chalk, 
were fimshed with great care, and highly esteemed 
by collectors. He etched twenty-six plates^ from 
his own pictures or designs, with much neatness. 
Of this series Cean Bermudez esteemed "Silenus 
with Satyrs and Bacchantes ** as the best and rarest ; 
and there is also a spirited portrait of Don Juan 
of Austria on horseback, with a view of Naples 
in the background, signed " Jusepe de Rivera, f. 
1648," in which the head was afterwards changed 
by another hand to that of the bastard's half- 
brother Charles II, and the date to 1670. Several 
of these etchings bear the painter's monogram. 




( 1 598-1 662) 

Whilst Andalusia, fertile in genius, furnished a 
great chief to the school of Castile, the principal 
cities of the province still possessed some of the 
ablest painters that ever shed a lustre upon 
Spanish art. 

Francisco de Zurbaran was born at Fuente de 
Cantos, a small town of Estrcmadura, situated 
amongst the hills of the Sierra which divides that 
province from Andalusia, and was baptized there 
on the 7th of November 1598. His first instruc- 
tions in art were drawn, says Palomino,^ from 
some forgotten painter of that secluded district, 
who had perhaps been the scholar of Morales 
during that great master's sojourn at the neigh- 
bouring town of Frexenal. The elder Zurbaran 
had intended to bring up his son to his calling of 
husbandry, but, observing his abilities and incli- 
nation for painting, he released him from the 
plough and sent him to the school of the licen- 
tiate Juan de Roelas at Seville. There his talents 
and his application being equally extraordinary 

' Palomino, vol. iii. p. 527. 


soon gained him considerable reputation. Like 
Velasquez, he early formed the resolution that 
everything which he placed on his canvas should 
be copied directly from nature, and he would 
not paint even a piece of drapery without having 
it before him on the lay figure. As in the case 
of Velasquez, the effects of this patient diligence 
were soon observed in his works, and his deline- 
ations of men and things were faithful and forcible 
facsimiles of their faces and forms. In the 
management of his lights and shadows he loved 
breadth and strong contrast ; he appears to have 
imitated the style of Caravaggio, to whom many 
of his works might be readily attributed ; and, on 
account of this resemblance, he has been called 
the Caravaggio of Spain. 

In 1625 he painted for the cathedral a series 
of excellent pictures on the life of the Apostle 
Peter, a gift to the dim unworthy chapel of that 
saint from the Marquess of Malagon. The 
centre-pieces in the retablo represent the first 
bearer of the keys sitting in pontifical vestments, 
and his deliverance from prison by the angel ; 
and these are flanked by other passages of his 
history, such as his want of faith in walking the 
water, and the vision of unclean beasts let down 
in the mysterious sheet. About the same time 
he also executed the grand allegorical picture 
known as St. Thomas Aquinas, as an altar-piece 
for the college of that saint, justly esteemed his 


finest work, and one of the highest achievements 
of the Spanish pencil. It now hangs over what was 
once the high altar of the Friars of Mercy, in the 
Museum of Seville. The picture is divided into 
three parts, and the figures are somewhat larger 
than life. Aloft, in the opening heaven, appear 
the Blessed Trinity, the Virgin, St. Paul, and 
St. Dominic, and the angelic doctor St. Thomas 
Aquinas ascending to join their glorious company ; 
lower down, in middle air, sit the four doctors 
of the Church, grand and venerable figures, on 
cloudy thrones ; and on the ground kneel, on the 
right hand, the Archbishop Diego de Dcza, 
founder of the college, and on the left the 
Emperor Charles V, attended by a train of 
ecclesiastics. The head of St. Thomas is said 
to be a portrait of Don Agustin Abreu Nufiez 
de Escobar, prebendary of Seville, and from the 
close adherence to Titian's pictures, observable in 
the grave countenance of the imperial adorer, it 
is reasonable to suppose that in the other his- 
torical personages the likeness has been preserved 
wherever it was practicable. The dark mild face 
immediately behind Charles is traditionally held 
to be the portrait of Zurbaran himself. In spite 
of its blemishes as a composition — which are, 
perhaps, chargeable less against the painter than 
against his Dominican patrons of the college — 
and in spite of a certain harshness of outline, 
this picture is one of the grandest of altar-pieces. 



The colouring throughout is rich and efFective 
and worthy the school of Roelas ; the heads are 
all of them admirable studies; the draperies of 
the doctors and ecclesiastics are magnificent in 
breadth and amplitude of fold; the imperial 
mantle is painted with Venetian splendour ; and 
the street-view, receding in the centre of the 
canvas, is admirable for its atmospheric depth 
and distance. 

Zurbaran was afterwards called to the great 
monastery of Guadalupe, to paint for the Jerony- 
mite friars eleven pictures on the life of the holy 
doctor, their patron saint, and two altar-pieces 
representing St. Ildefonso and St. Nicolas Bari, 
which he executed with brilliancy and success. 
Returning to Seville, he was employed at the 
Chartreuse of Santa Maria de las Cuevas, one of 
the fairest mansions of St. Bruno, notable as 
having held for a while the bones of Columbus, 
rich in Gothic and plateresque architecture, in 
sumptuous tombs, plate and jewels, carvings, 
books and pictures, and celebrated by Navagiero 
a century before for its groves of orange and 
lemon-trees, on the banks of the Guadalquivir. 
For these well-lodged Carthusians he painted the 
three remarkable works now in the Museum at 
Seville, representing St. Bruno conversing with 
Pope Urban II ; St. Hugo visiting a refectory, 
where the monks were unlawfully dining upon 
flesh-meat ; and the Virgin extending her mantle 


over a company of Carthusian worthies. In the 
first of these pictures the Pontiff, in a velvet 
robe, and the recluse, in white with a black cloak, 
sit opposite to each other, with a table between 
them covered with books ; their heads are full of 
dignity, and all the accessories finely coloured. 
In the third, the strangeness of the subject detracts 
from the pleasure afforded by the excellence of 
the painting. The second is the best of the 
three, and is curious as a scene of the old 
monastic life of Spain, whence the cowled friar 
has passed away like the mailed knight. At a 
table, spread with what seems a frugal meal, sit 
seven Carthusians in white, some of them with 
their high-peaked hoods drawn over their heads ; 
the aged Bishop Hugo, in purple vestments and 
attended by a page, stands in the foreground ; 
over the heads of the monks there hangs a picture 
of the Virgin ; and an open door affords a glimpse 
of a distant church. These venerable friars seem 
portraits ; each differs in feature from the other, 
yet all bear the impress of long years of solitary 
and silent penance ; their white draperies chill 
the eye, as their cold hopeless faces chill the 
heart ; and the whole scene is brought before us 
with a vivid fidelity, which shows that Zurbaran 
studied the Carthusian in his native cloisters, 
with the like close and fruitful attention that 
Velasquez bestowed on the courtier, strutting it 
in the corridors of the Alcazar or the alleys of 



Aranjucz. He likewise painted, for the shod and 
barefooted friars of the Order of Mercy, a number 
of pictures on the life of San Pedro Nolasco, 
and other subjects; a variety of works for the 
Capuchins, Trinitarians, and the parish churches of 
San Roman, San Est^ban, and San Buenaventura ; 
and for the church of San Pablo a Crucifixion, 
signed ^^ Franciscus de Zurbarian^ f. 1627," and 
highly extolled for the relief and roundness of 
the figure, which rivalled the effect of carving.^ 

Before Zurbaran reached the age of thirty-five 
he was appointed painter to the King. The exact 
time of his promotion, the works or the interest 
by which he obtained it, and the date of his first 
visit to Madrid remain unknown. But the great 
number of his works in Andalusia, and their rare 
occurrence in the capital and in Castile, prove 
that his life was principally spent in his native 
province. In 1633 ^^ finished a series of pictures 
of the life of our Lord, and of the Evangelists 
and other Saints for the high altar of the fine 
Chartreuse of Xeres de la Frontera, of which the 
vast decaying cloister may still be seen on the 
sherry-growing banks of the Guadalete. One of 
these pictures bore his signature, in which he 
wrote himself painter to the King. 

He was called to court, says Palomino,* in 
1650 by Velasquez, at the desire of Philip IV, 

* All now in the Seville Museum. 
' Palomino, vol. iii. p. 528. 


who employed him to execute for a saloon at 
Buenrctiro ten works, representing the labours of 
Hercules, now in the Queen of Spain's gallery. 
The King, according to his favourite custom, 
used to visit him whilst engaged on these pictures, 
and on one occasion expressed his admiration of 
his powers by laying his hand on his shoulder and 
calling him " painter of the King, and king of the 
painters." Diaz de Valle mentions that he con- 
versed with him at Madrid in 1662, and Palomino 
asserts that his death took place there in that year. 
By his wife, Dofia Leonor de Jordera, whom he 
married in early life at Seville, he left several 
children, and to one of their daughters the 
chapter of that city granted, in 1657, the life- 
rent of a house in the Calle de Abades. In 
proof of the esteem in which the painter was 
held at Seville, Palomino relates that, having 
retired to his native town of Fuente de Cantos> 
he was followed thither by a deputation from the 
corporation of the city, entreating, not in vain, 
his return — a story which Cean Bermudez con- 
siders doubtful and not very probable. 

Zurbaran was one of the most diligent of 
painters, and his works have found their way 
into most of the great galleries of Europe. The 
legends of the Carthusians and monks of the 
Order of Mercy were his staple subjects, and as 
he was called upon to execute them in large 
quantities to clothe the vast walls of convents. 


they are often very coarsely and carelessly 
painted. The pictures in the Museum at Seville, 
already noticed, are, without doubt, his finest 
works. In that city the spacious church, also, 
of the Hospital del Sangre possesses eight small 
pictures' by him, each representing a sainted 
woman. Of these, Sta. Matilda, in a crimson 
robe, embroidered with gold and pearls, Sta. 
Dorotea, in lilac, and Sta. Ines, in purple, carry- 
ing a lamb in her arms, are the best, and they 
seem memorials of some of the reigning beauties 
of Seville. The cathedral of Cadiz has a fine 
specimen of Zurbaran's larger works in the 
" Adoration of the Kings," a grand picture, rich 
in gorgeous draperies, which hangs on the south 
side of the great door, and perhaps came from 
the Chartreuse of Xeres. Besides his labours of 
Hercules, the Royal Gallery at Madrid contains two 
well-painted passages from the life of his favourite 
San Pedro Nolasco, and a delightful picture of the 
Infant Jesus lying asleep on a cross, and wrapped 
in royal purple,^ a subject frequently painted by 
Guido and Murillo, but never with more delicacy 
and grace. Of his gloomy monastic studies, that 
in the National Gallery of a kneeling Franciscan 
holding a skull is one of the ablest ' ; the face, 
dimly seen beneath the brown hood, is turned to 
heaven ; no trace of earthly expression is left on 
its pale features, but the wild eyes seem fixed on 

* Nos. 1 1 20, 1 12 1, 1133. ■ No. 230. 


some dismal vision, and a single glance at the 
canvas imprints the figure on the memory for 
ever. Unrivalled in such subjects of dark fana- 
ticism, he could also do ample justice to the 
purest and most lovely of sacred themes. His 
Virgin, with the Infant Saviour and his playmate 
St. John, signed Fran, de Zurharatiy 1653, in the 
Duke of Sutherland's gallery at Stafford House, 
is one of the most delicious creations of the 
Spanish pencil. By the mellow splendour of its 
colouring, the eye is " won as it wanders " over 
those sumptuous walls, gemmed with the works 
of far greater renown. The head of the Virgin 
unites much of the soft ideal grace of Guido's 
Madonnas, with the warm life that glows and 
mantles in the cheek of Titian's Violante, and 
her hair is of that rich chestnut brown, Rosalind's 
colour^ so beautiful and so rare both in nature and 
in art. The children recall the graceful cherubs 
of Correggio ; the goldfinch in the hand of the 
Baptist seems to live and flutter, and the dish of 
apples might have been newly gathered from the 
canvas of Van Heem, or from the orchards of 
the Guadalvin or the Severn. 

Zurbaran undoubtedly stands in the front rank 
of Spanish painters. He painted heads with 
admirable skill, but he had not that wonderful 
power, which belonged to Velasquez, of producing 
an exact facsimile of a group of figures at various 
distances; none of his large compositions equal 



the **Menifias" in airy ease and truth of effect, nor 
have his figures the rounded and undefined, yet 
truly lifelike, outlines which charm in the works 
of Murillo. But in colouring he is not inferior to 
these great masters ; and his tints, although always 
sober and subdued, h^e sometimes much of the 
brilliancy and depth of Rembrandt's style, as is 
the case in his excellent small picture of " Judith 
and her Handmaid," in the collection of the Earl 
of Clarendon. He is the peculiar painter of 
monks, as Raphael is of Madonnas and Ribera 
of martyrdoms ; he studied the Spanish friar, and 
painted him with as high a relish as Titian 
painted the Venetian noble and Vandyck the 
gentleman of England. His Virgins are rare 
and in general not very pleasing, but he fre- 
quently painted female saints, apparently pre- 
serving in their persons the portraits of beauties 
of the day, for the rouge of good society may 
often be detected on their cheeks. In the deli- 
neation of animals he was likewise successful, and 
Palomino * mentions with approbation his pictures 
of an enraged dog, from which chance observers 
used to run away, and of a yearling lamb, deemed 
by the possessor of more value than a hecatomb 
of full-grown sheep. 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 528. 



Alonso Cano was the last of the great artists 
of Spain who followed the practice of Berre- 
guete and obtained distinction in the three arts 
of painting, sculpture, and architecture. He was 
born, on the 19th of March 1601, in the city of 
Granada, and was baptized in the parish church 
of San Ildefonso. His parents were Miguel Cano, 
a native of Almodovar del Campo, and Maria de 
Almansa, a native of Villarobledo, in the province 
of La Mancha, both of gentle blood. Miguel 
Cano, being a carver of retablos, brought his son 
up to his own calling ; and the talents of the lad 
having attracted the notice of Juan de Castillo, 
that master recommended the removal of the 
family to Seville, for the sake of the better in- 
struction which that city afforded. This advice 
being followed, Alonso was placed in the school 
of the painter Pacheco,^ from which he was, eight 
months afterwards, removed to that of Castillo 
himself. He is also said to have partaken of 
the rough training of the elder Herrera. In 
sculpture he became the disciple of Martinez 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 575. 



Montafies ; and the classical dignity of his style 
led Cean Bermudez to conjecture that he must 
have bestowed much careful study on the antique 
marbles which then graced the galleries and 
gardens of the Duke of Alcala*s palace. 

Amongst the earliest known works of Cano 
were three retablos, designed, carved, and painted 
by him, for the college of San Alberto, and two 
for the conventual church of Sta. Paula, the pic- 
tures and statues of which, in the opinion of 
Cean Bermudez, surpassed the works of his in- 
structors. Pacheco and Zurbaran were employed 
at the same time with him in the college ; but his 
productions were so esteemed that the Provincial 
of the order of Mercy invited him to execute a 
series of paintings for the cloister of the convent 
under that rule, a task which, however, he declined 
from diffidence, says Palomino, of his own powers, 
but, more probably, because he was dissatisfied 
with the pay proposed by the friars. 

In 1628 Miguel Cano was engaged to erect 
a new high altar in the parish chtirch of Lebrija, 
a small town with a ruined Moorish castle and 
a tall Moorish belfry, which tower above the olive- 
covered slopes that skirt the southern marshes of 
the Guadalquivir. The year following he pre- 
sented his plan, estimated to cost 3000 ducats, 
which was approved by the authorities, and the 
work was begun. But, the artist dying in 1630, 
the execution of the design fell upon his son 


Alonso, who completed it in 1636, and was paid 
250 ducats over and above the stipulated price. 
The painting and gilding and the indifferent pic- 
tures were executed by Pablo Lcgote at the price 
of 35,373 reals. This altar-piece still maintains 
its place in the huge Greco-Romano church of 
Lebrija ; it seems to have undergone neither alte- 
ration nor repair since the original artists removed 
their tools and scaffolding from the chapel, but 
stands, with its wealth of tarnished gilding, a monu- 
ment of the sumptuous devotion of a former 
age. It consists of two storeys, supported on four 
spirally-fluted columns, rich with cornices elabo- 
rately carved. Four pieces of sculpture display 
the genius of Alonso Cano — a Crucifixion, which 
crowns the edifice ; a pair of colossal statues of 
St. Peter and St. Paul, in the second storey ; and 
a lovely image of the Blessed Virgin, enshrined 
in a curtained niche over the slab of the altar. 
These carvings were long famous in Andalusia, 
and Palomino asserts that artists have been known 
to come from Flanders in order to copy them for 
Flemish churches.^ Although hardly of sufficient 
importance as works of art to repay a journey 
from the Scheldt to the Guadalquivir, they are 
executed with skill and spirit ; the crucifix and 
the Apostles are not inferior to works of Mon- 
tafies; and the head of the Madonna, with its 
deep blue eyes and mild, melancholy grace, is 

* Palomino, vol. iii. p. 576. 


one of the most beautiful pieces of the coloured 
carving of Spain. 

Amongst the convents of Seville, in which Cano 
was largely employed, was that of the Carthusians, 
whose refectory he adorned with eight pictures, 
representing Adam and Eve driven from Para- 
dise, Joseph escaping from Potiphar's wife, and 
other biblical subjects ; their sacristy with a fine 
copy of a Madonna, Christ, and St. John, by 
Raphael ; and their church with other works. 
For the church of Monte Sion he executed a 
large picture of Purgatory ; for the nuns of the 
Immaculate Conception, which adorned the portal 
of their chapel, and for the nuns of St. Anne, a 
figure, carved in wood, of the beloved Evangelist. 

His versatile genius soon obtained for him the 
first place amongst the artists of Seville, a posi- 
tion which his somewhat arrogant temper dis- 
posed him to maintain at all risks against all 
comers. In 1637 a quarrel, on some forgotten 
subject of dispute, produced a duel between him 
and Sebastian de Llanos y Vald6s, a painter of 
amiable character and considerable talent, in 
which Cano, who was an expert swordsman, 
severely wounded his adversary. Evading the 
arm of the law, he escaped to Madrid, where he 
renewed his acquaintance with his fellow-scholar 
Velasquez, and by the kindness of that generous 
friend obtained the protection and the favour 
of Olivarez. In 1639 the minister appointed 


him to superintend certain works in the royal 

He was likewise engaged in painting various 
pictures for the churches and convents, amongst 
which some of the best were an altar-piece in the 
church of Santiago, representing an angel showing 
a flask of water to St. Francis, as a symbol of 
the purity requisite to the priestly office; and 
pictures of the Patriarch Joseph and our Lord at 
Calvary, in the church of San Gines. The latter 
of these pictures still hangs in its original chapel, 
on the epistle side of the church ; it is a work 
of great brilliancy and power, and it commemo- 
rates a scene in the Passion which the pencil has 
not very commonly approached. Seated on a 
stone, with his hands bound, the Saviour awaits 
the completion of the cross with holy resigna- 
tion ; his figure and noble countenance contrast 
strikingly with the brawny ruffian who hews the 
timber at his side ; and, further off, the Virgin 
and her weeping company are dimly seen in the 
shadow of the descending darkness. For the 
church of Sta. Maria he also painted a large 
picture of " St. Isidoro Miraculously Rescuing a 
drowning Child from a Well.'* The praises be- 
stowed upon this work by the painter Mayno 
having excited the curiosity of Philip IV, that 
royal amateur proceeded to the church to judge 
of the powers of Cano, under pretext of adoring 
Our Lady of the Granary, a celebrated brown 


image carved by Nicodemus, coloured by St. 
Luke, and brought to Spain by the blessed St. 
James. The abilities of the artist were soon 
rewarded with the place of painter to the King ; 
and he was also appointed drawing-master to the 
Infant Don Balthazar Carlos, who, like the Scot- 
tish Solomon under George Buchanan, found him 
altogether wanting in the deference which usually 
belongs to the preceptor of a prince, and was wont 
to complain to the King of his asperities. In 1 643 
he was an unsuccessful candidate for the office 
of Master of the Works to the Chapter of Toledo, 
which was conferred, on the 1 3th of August, on 
Felipe Lazaro de Goiti. He was employed, how- 
ever, soon after to paint the monument for the 
Holy Week in the conventual church of San Gil 
at Madrid. 

The year 1644 was marked in the history of 
Cano by a tragical event, which embittered his life, 
checked the prosperous course of his labours, and 
fixed upon his character a charge, which it is now 
impossible either to substantiate or clear away. 
Returning home on the night of the lOth of June, 
he found, according to his own version of the 
story, his wife lying on her bed, a bleeding corpse, 
pierced with fifteen wounds, apparently inflicted 
by a small knife, and grasping a lock of hair, 
indicative of a desperate struggle. Her jewels 
were missing from the house ; and an Italian 
servant, whom Cano used as a model, having likc- 



wise disappeared, the murder and robbery was at 
once attributed to him. But, in the hands of 
the lawyers, the case assumed a new aspect. It 
was proved that Cano had been jealous of this 
man, that he had lived upon bad terms with the 
deceased, and that he was notoriously engaged 
in an intrigue with another woman. Alarmed for 
his safety, the suspected artist fled from Madrid, 
and, causing it to be reported that he had taken 
the road to Portugal, sought refuge first in a 
Franciscan convent of the city of Valencia, and 
then in the Chartreuse of Portacoeli, a monastery 
situated amongst the woodlands of the neighbour- 
ing Sierra. There he painted pictures of Our 
Lord bearing his cross, of the Crucifixion, and of 
a holy woman named Inez de Moncada, who 
dwelt in those solitudes ; and he remained for 
some time exercising his pencil on various sub- 
jects, for the embellishment of the sheltering 
cloister, until he deemed it safe to venture back 
to the capital. Although received into the house 
of his friend, Don Rafael Sanguineto, the eye of 
the law was still upon him, and he fell into the 
grip of the alguazils ; who, according to the 
barbarous usage of the time, sought to wring 
from his own lips by means of torture evidence 
sufficient to convict him. Under this infliction, 
pleading excellence in art — a plea in certain cases 
admitted by the law — he claimed exemption for 
his right hand from the ligatures, a boon con- 


ceded, says Palomino, by the order of the King ; ^ 
and having passed through the ordeal without 
uttering a cry, he was set at liberty with a char- 
acter judicially spotless. From the scanty records 
of this transaction which remain to us, it is im- 
possible to decide whether Alonso Cano was a brave 
man fallen on evil days and evil tongues, or a 
remorseless villain saved from an assassin's death 
by the iron strength of his nerves. The suspicion 
against him must have been very strong, other- 
wise his friend Velasquez would probably have 
interfered on his behalf. On the other hand, the 
Regidor Sanguineto must have believed him inno- 
cent, otherwise he would not have afforded him the 
shelter of his roof. It is also fair to give Cano's 
character the benefit of the doubts which are sug- 
gested by the contradictory nature of the evidence. 
Palomino asserts that he fled to Valencia to escape 
apprehension, but an old document, cited by Pel- 
licer y Tovar, makes it appear that he was put to 
the question within a few days after the murder. 
Both these authorities agree in making Madrid 
the scene of the tragedy, whereas Bosarte relates 
that they still show at Valladolid the house wherein 
it was enacted. 

The calamitous episode in Cano*s life does not 
appear to have inflicted any very permanent injury 
on his reputation or on his subsequent fortunes. 
The black charge brought against him cannot 

^ Palomino, voL iii. p. 579. 


have obtained much general credit, since his 
patrons of the Church and the Court continued 
to employ and caress him. He retained his place 
about the Prince of Asturias, and his habits of 
plain-spoken censure of the Infant's youthful 
scrawlings. In 1647 the Brotherhood of Our 
Lady of Sorrows appointed him their mayor-domo 
or chamberlain ; and in the same year he was 
fined in that capacity 100 ducats for absenting 
himself from a procession : a fine which gave rise 
to a lawsuit of fifty years' duration, in which the 
painters and goldsmiths of the guild seemed to 
have maintained that the burden of the solemnity 
ought to fall upon the alguazils of the Court. 
When Queen Mariana arrived in her new kingdom 
in 1648, he was architect of a great triumphal 
arch, a work of a novel and fantastic character, 
erected at the gate of Guadalajara, in honour 
of the royal bride's entry into the capital of the 
Spains. And in 1650 we find him at Toledo, 
called thither by the Chapter, for the purpose 
of inspecting and giving his opinion on the 
works in progress in the octagon chapel of the 

He soon afterwards determined to take priest's 
orders, and, leaving Madrid, he fixed his abode in 
his native city of Granada. The stall of a minor 
canon in the cathedral falling vacant, he suggested 
to his friends in the Chapter that it would be 
for the advantage of that body were an artist 


appointed, and permitted to exchange the choral 
duties of the preferment for the superintendence 
of the architecture and decorations of the church, 
and, on these terms, obtained a recommendation 
in h^s own behalf to the Crown. Philip IV, 
always ready to befriend a good artist, at once 
conferred the benefice upon Cano, with the 
Nuncio's dispensation from certain of its duties, 
upon condition that he received ordination within 
a year. Part of the Chapter murmured at the 
choice, and even sent deputies to Madrid to 
petition against the induction of an unlearned 
layman into their reverend society ; but the reason- 
ings of these churchmen only drew forth from 
their master a reply, already recorded, less flatter- 
ing to their order than to their new colleague. 

Thus backed by royal favour, he took peace- 
able possession of his stall on the 20th of February 
1652, and soon justified his election, and con- 
ciliated the canons, by the diligent exercise of 
his f)encil and his chisel for the embellishment 
of the stately cathedral. A chamber on the first 
floor of the great bell-tower was assigned to him 
as his studio. For the high altar he sculptured an 
image of Our Lady of the Immaculate Concep- 
tion, which was so highly esteemed that a Genoese 
gentleman several times offered to purchase it at 
the price of 4000 doubloons ; of which oflfer, says 
Palomino, evidence was preserved in the archives. 
He designed and superintended the execution of 


two silver lamps for the principal chapel, and of 
the elaborate lectern of the choir, fornied of fine 
wood, bronze, and precious stones. The top of 
this lectern he also adorned with an exquisite 
carving of Our Lady of the Rosary, about eighteen 
inches high, which was so greatly prized that it 
was afterwards removed to the sacristy and kept 
amongst the reliques and rich jewels of the 
church. And for the sacristy he gave the plan 
of a new portal, and painted eleven pictures, nine 
of them representing passages from the life of 
the Blessed Virgin, and two the heads of Adam 
and Eve. 

The cathedral did not, however, monopolise 
the time and genius of its artist-canon. He gave 
the design of a magnificent altar-piece, carved for 
the nuns of the Convent of the Angel by his 
disciple Pedro de Mena, and executed several of 
its statues with his own chisel ; and he also painted 
for the same sisterhood a fine picture of our Lord 
parting with the Blessed Virgin in the Via Dolorosa. 
For the Capuchins of the Convent of San Diego, 
without the city walls, he painted many works ; 
and he enriched the church of the Dominican 
nuns of Sta. Catalina with a series of half-length 

The Bishop of Malaga,* being engaged in im- 

^ Called by Palomino Fray Luis de Santo Tomas ; but it may 
have been Bishop Antonio Henriquez, whose portrait by Cano 
long hung in the church of the Dominicans at Malaga. 


proving his cathedral church, invited Cano to that 
city for the purpose of designing a new tabernacle 
for the high altar and new stalls for the choir. 
He had finished his plans very much to the 
prelate's satisfaction, when he was privately in- 
formed that the intendant of the works proposed 
to allow him a very trifling remuneration. *' These 
drawings," said he, *' are either to be given away 
for nothing or to fetch two thousand ducats " ; 
and packing them up, he mounted his mule and 
took the road to Granada. The niggardly inten- 
dant, learning the cause of his departure, became 
alarmed, and sending after him, agreed to pay 
him his own price for the plans. During his stay 
at Malaga the city was visited by a dreadful 
inundation of the sea, of which Palomino tells a 
ridiculous story at the expense of the Bishop. 
The waters were rising rapidly. Whilst the 
clergy were assembled in the cathedral praying for 
their decrease the terrified prelate left his throne 
and took refuge in the organ, telling Cano, who 
ventured to ask why, that it was better to be 
crushed to death in the mighty instrument than 
to undergo the slower process of drowning. *' My 
Lord,*' replied the canon, **if we are to perish 
like eggs it matters little whether we be poached 
or boiled " — a pleasant conceit,^ which, uttered in 
such a conjuncture, says the historian, displayed 

* The point of the speech lies in a pun which cannot be 
rendered in English. See Palomino, vol. iii. p. 582. 


great magnanimity. The flood happily subsided, 
leaving the organ unshaken, and the Bishop in the 
enjoyment of his mitre and the canon of his jest. 
On his return to Granada, Cano made sketches 
for a series of pictures on the life of St. Dominic, 
for the Dominican friars of the royal monastery 
of Sta. Cruz. Paintings from these designs were 
afterwards executed in the cloister by one Castillo, 
but they were in a very weather-beaten condition 
so early as the beginning of the last century ; the 
original sketches of Cano were in the possession 
of Palomino. The canon was employed as a 
painter and sculptor, as well by private persons 
as by religious bodies. Of the former class of 
patrons was an auditor of the Royal Chancery, 
who ordered the canon to model for him a statue, 
about a yard in height, of St. Anthony of Padua, 
desiring him to put forth all his skill. The work 
being finished, he went to see it, and, after express- 
ing his satisfaction, he carelessly asked the price. 
Cano demanded one hundred doubloons. Greatly 
astonished and after a long pause, the auditor 
next inquired how many days' labour it had cost. 
" Twenty-five," remarked Cano. " Then it ap- 
pears," said the patron, "that you esteem your 
labour at four doubloons a day ? " " You are but 
a bad accountant," retorted the artist, " for I have 
been fifty years learning to make such a statue as 
this in twenty-five days." *' And I," rejoined the 
auditor, " have spent my youth and my patrimony 


on my university studies, and now, being auditor 
of Granada — z far nobler profession than yours — 
I earn each day a bare doubloon." The old lay 
leaven began to work in the canon, and he 
remembered the words of Philip IV : *' Yours a 
nobler profession than mine ! " cried he ; " know 
that the King can make auditors of the dust of 
the earth, but that God reserves to Himself the 
creation of such as Alonso Cano ! " And without 
waiting for further argument he laid hold of St. 
Anthony and dashed him to pieces on the floor, 
to the dismay of his devotee, who immediately 
fled, boiling with rage. To put such an aflFront 
upon a man in authority, says the sagacious 
Palomino, was highly imprudent, especially upon 
an auditor of Granada, who is a little god upon 
earth, and still more when the matter might have 
been brought before the Holy Office, where small 
allowance would be made for the natural irrita- 
bility of an artist and for his sacristan-like 
irreverence, engendered by daily familiarity with 
saintly efligies.^ The outraged functionary, how- 
ever, took another sort of revenge. By his influ- 
ence in the Chapter, Cano's stall was declared 
vacant, because he had not qualified himself to 
hold it by taking orders within the given time, a 
neglect of which his brethren had already fre- 
quently complained. 

The deprived canon was therefore obliged to 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 582. 


repair to Madrid, where he appealed to the King, 
and alleged, as the cause of the delay, the pressure 
of work on which he was engaged for the cathe- 
dral. Philip, with his usual good nature, allowed 
his excuse, and obtained for him, from the Bishop 
of Salamanca, a chaplaincy, which entitled him to 
full orders, and from the Nuncio a dispensation 
from the duties of saying Mass. But the affair 
coming to the knowledge of Queen Mariana, she 
insisted that Cano, before the royal favour was 
exerted in his behalf, should execute for her a 
crucifix of life-size — ^bespoken long before, but 
hitherto neglected. The work being finished to 
her Majesty's satisfaction, she presented it to the 
Convent of Monserrate at Madrid ; and the artist, 
returning to Granada, re-entered upon his benefice 
in triumph in 1659. But he never forgave the 
Chapter for the attempt to depose him, nor re- 
sumed his pencil or chisel in the service of the 

The remainder of his life was chiefly devoted 
to pious exercises and to works of charity. 
Poverty and wretchedness never appealed to him 
in vain, and his gains, as soon as won, were 
divided amongst widows and orphans. His purse 
was, therefore, often empty, and on these occa- 
sions, if he met a beggar in the street whose story 
touched him, he would go into the next shop, 
and, asking for pen and paper, sketch a head, a 
figure, or an architectural design, and give it as 


his alms, with directions for finding a purchaser 
at a price which he affixed to it.^ His benevo- 
lence of heart being equalled by his readiness of 
hand, these eleemosynary drawings were rapidly 
multiplied, and a large collection of them came 
into the possession of Palomino. 

With that inconsistency which so often dims 
the glory of genius and the beauty of virtue, Cano, 
whose heart overflowed with the milk of human 
kindness towards his Christian brethren, poured 
forth nothing but gall and bitterness towards the 
Jew. No saint or soldier of the Middle Ages 
ever held the race of Israel in more holy abhor- 
rence. In his walks through the narrow Moorish 
streets of Granada, if he met any poor Jew hawker 
in his sanbenito — the garb ordained by the Inquisi- 
tion for the tribe — he crossed over the way or 
sheltered himself in the nearest porch, lest he 
should brush the misbeliever with the hem of his 
cassock or cloak and be defiled. If such an 
accident befell him he would immediately strip oflF 
the unlucky garment and send home for another. 
Sometimes, in cases of doubtful contact, he would 
appeal to his servant, when the rogue, says 
Palomino, was wont to reply that it was a mere 
touch which mattered nothing, well knowing that 
the unclean thing would be immediately thrown 
in his face. He was, however, subject to dis- 
missal if he ever ventured to put on any part of 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 584. 


the condemned apparel. It happened one day 
that the canon, returning from his walk, found 
his housekeeper, who had but lately entered his 
service, higgling within his very house with one 
of the circumcised. He immediately raised a 
prodigious outcry, and hastened about in search 
of a stick or poker, whereat the Hebrew gathered 
up his wares and fled ; and the housekeeper 
escaped a beating only by taking refuge in a 
neighbour's house, whence her master would not 
receive her back until he had assured himself that 
she had no Jewish kin or connections and until 
she had performed quarantine. He likewise puri- 
fied his dwelling by rcpaving the spot which the 
Israelite had polluted with his feet, and the shoes 
in which he himself had followed his track 
swelled the spoil of his serving-man. 

In the summer or autumn of 1667 he was 
attacked by his last illness, in his house in the 
Albaicin in the parish of Santiago. His finances 
were, at this time, very low; for the records of 
the Chapter contain two entries, of which the first, 
dated on the nth of August, preserves a vote of 
500 reals to ** the canon Cano, being sick and very 
poor, and without means to pay the doctor " ; and 
the second, dated the 1 9th of August, records a 
further grant of 200 reals, made at the suggestion 
of the archdeacon, to buy him " poultry and sweet- 
meats." The curate of that parish, coming to see 
him, begged to be informed whenever he desired 


to confess or receive the sacrament, that he himself 
might attend him. To this friendly request the 
dying man replied by asking if he ever administered 
the sacrament to Jews condemned by the Inquisi- 
tion ? Finding that the clergyman was in the habit 
of performing that duty, he said, " Then Sefior 
Licentiate, I must bid you farewell in God's name, 
for he who communicates with them shall never 
communicate with me ; " and he obtained leave to 
be attended by the curate of the adjacent parish 
of San Andres. Like the Florentine Verrocchio 
two centuries and a half before, who could not 
die peaceably in the hospital at Venice without a 
crucifix carved by Donatello, Cano put aside the 
rudely sculptured cross which was placed in his 
hand by the priest. **My son," said the good 
man, somewhat shocked by the action, "what 
are you doing ? This is the image of our Lord 
the Redeemer, by whom alone you can be saved." 
" So do I believe, father," replied the dying man ; 
" yet vex me not with this thing, but give me a 
simple cross, that I may adore it, both as it is in 
itself and as I can figure it in my mind." His 
request being granted, ** he died," says Palomino, 
" in a manner highly exemplary and edifying to 
those about him,"* on the 3rd of October 1667, 
in the sixty-sixth year of his age. On the day 
following, his body, attended by the Chapter, 
in all its pomp, was carried to its niche in the 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 585. 


Pantheon of the canons, beneath the choir of the 

Cano seems to have been a man of a hot im- 
petuous temperament, a strong will, strong preju- 
dices, and kindly feelings. Hence his character 
wore a different complexion at different times, 
and the story of his life is filled with strangely 
inconsistent passages. Driven from Seville by a 
quarrel with one of the gentlest of his fellow- 
artists, he seems to have lived on good terms 
with many more formidable rivals at Madrid ; his 
regular scholars found him kind and friendly, 
whilst towards his royal pupil he comported him- 
self like another Herrera ; he was stigmatised as 
the murderer of his wife ; and he died, reduced to 
indigence by charities to the Christian, and breath- 
ing out hatred against the Jew. In person he 
appears to have been under the middle size ; his 
countenance, full of quick intelligence, also bears 
traces of his irritable disposition. His portrait, if 
indeed it be his, by Velasquez represents him as 
grey-haired but still in the full vigour of life ; 
those by his own hand, which still exist, belong to 
a later period. From one of these the engraving 
by Basquez is probably taken ; two other supposed 
portraits are in the Louvre. The sickly emaciated 
features afford evidence that it was painted not 
many months before the artist went down to the 
Pantheon of the canons. The wasp buzzing near 
his ear is, perhaps, a contemptuous emblem of 


some troublesome rival in art, or in the Chapter, 
the solitary record of some forgotten feud. 

Alonso Cano has been called, on account rather 
of his various skill than of the style of his works, 
the Michael Angelo of Spain.* As a painter, he 
was excelled by few of his brethren of Andalusia, 
and his name is deservedly great in Seville and 
in Granada. Although a ready draughtsman, he 
frequently condescended to appropriate the ideas 
of others, borrowing largely from prints, picking 
up a hint, says Palomino,* even from the coarse 
wood-cut at the top of a ballad, and avowing and 
defending the practice. " Do the same thing with 
the same effect," he would say to those who cen- 
sured it, " and I will forgive you." Not gifted 
with Zurbaran's facility in handling the palette 
and brush, and frequently engaged in the other 
branches of his threefold art, he has not left many 
large pictures behind him. Some of these, how- 
ever, are amongst the most beautiful creations of 
the Spanish pencil, unaided by study in Italy. 
His eye for form was exceedingly fine, and there- 
fore his drawing is more correct than that of many 
of his rivals; his compositions are simple and 
pleasing, and in richness and variety of colour he 
has not often been surpassed. The Prado Gallery 
possesses eight of his works. Amongst these the 
full-length picture of the Blessed Virgin, seated 

* Cumberland, " Anecdotes,'' voL ii. p. 72. 
' Palomino, vol. iii. p. 578. 


with the Infant Saviour asleep on her knees, at 
once arrests the eye, and long haunts the memory.^ 
A circlet of stars surrounds the head of this dark- 
haired Madonna, apparently a portrait of some fair 
young mother of Granada, wrapped in happy con- 
templation of her new-born babe. Her robe and 
mantle of crimson and dark blue fall in majestic 
folds around her ; a slender tree, a river, and a 
range of low hills fill up the background. 

* No. 670. 



Bartolom£ Estevan Murillo was bom at 
Seville, near the close of the year 1617, He was 
baptized on New Year's Day, 16 18, by the curate 
Francisco de Heredia, in the parish church of La 
Magdalena, destroyed in 1809 by the French. 
The names of his parents were Caspar Estivan 
and Maria Perez ; but he also assumed, according 
to the frequent usage of Andalusia, the surname 
of his maternal grandmother, Elvira Murillo. 
These facts of his history were brought to light 
by the Count of Aguila, who, towards the close 
of last century, examined the registers of several 
parish churches and the archives of the Cathedral, 
where a son of Murillo had held a canonry. By 
the researches of that ill-fated nobleman, Cean 
Bermudez was enabled to disprove Palomino's 
assertion, that the great painter was born in 161 3, 
at Pilas, a village five leagues from Seville, and 
restore the honour of giving him birth to the 
year and the place to which it properly belonged. 
Like Velasquez, Murillo displayed his inclina- 
tion for art, when yet a boy, by scrawling on his 
school-books and covering the walls of the school 


with precocious pencillings. His parents, observ- 
ing the bent of his disposition, wisely determined 
to humour it, and therefore placed him as soon 
as he had learned to read and write, under the 
care of the painter Juan del Castillo, who was 
related to their family. His gentle nature, and 
his desire to learn, soon made him a favourite 
with his fellow-scholars, and with his master, who 
bestowed particular care on his instruction, and 
taught him all the mechanical parts of his calling 
by causing him to grind the colours, prepare the 
canvases, and manage the palette and brushes of 
the school. 

The great artists of Seville, whose genius has 
given to that city the rank of a metropolis in 
art, did not live in the days of royal or national 
academies, nor did they acquire their skill in 
galleries, furnished forth at the public expense, 
with copies of the finest statuary of Greece and 
Rome, and other expensive appliances of study. 
The dwelling of each master was a school of 
design, where the pupils or amateurs who resorted 
thither defrayed the cost of coal and candle, and 
other moderate expenses, out of a common fund. 
There, around the awning in summer, they copied 
the heads or limbs sketched by the master for their 
use, or the fine casts or fragments of sculpture 
which he had inherited or collected, such as Torri- 
giano*s mano de la teta^ or the anatomical models 
of Becerra. There was always a lay figure to be 


covered, as need required, with various draperies, 
for which the national cloak and the monkish 
frock afforded ready and excellent materials. 
Sometimes a living model was obtained, especially 
if the master were engaged upon any work of 
importance; or if this were an expense beyond 
the means of the school, the disciples would strip 
in turn, and lend an arm, or leg, or a shoulder, 
to be copied and studied by their fellows. The 
practice, followed by Velasquez, of painting fruit 
and vegetables, game and fish, pots and pans, for 
the sake of gaining experience in the use of 
colours, obtained in all the schools of Seville. 
The ambition of the scholars was fired, and their 
industry spurred, by the emulation which existed 
between school and school — those of Roelas and 
Pacheco, Herrera and Castillo; by the hope of 
winning the favour of the Chapter or the Char- 
treuse, or of nobles like the Duke of Alcala ; and 
by exhibitions of their works, at windows and 
balconies, during the procession of Corpus ; or at 
other festivals, on the steps (^las gradas) surround- 
ing the Cathedral, when any piece of distinguished 
merit became the magnet of the throng, the theme 
of poets, and the talk of the town. 

Availing himself of all the means of improve- 
ment within his reach, Murillo, in a few years, 
painted as well as Castillo himself. While still 
in the school of that master, he executed two 
pictures of Our Lady, attended in the one by St. 


Francis and another monk ; in the other, by Santo 
Domingo, which displayed a close adherence to 
the stifF style of his instructor. The first of these 
pictures hung in the convent of Regina Angelorum, 
the second in the College of St. Thomas. The 
removal of Castillo to Cadiz, in 1639-40, deprived 
Murillo of his instructions and his friendship, the 
latter of which, at least, may have been of con- 
siderable importance. For it seems, that Estevan 
and his wife were either dead or too poor to 
afford their son the means of pursuing his studies 
under another master. Certain it is, that instead 
of enrolling himself in the fine school of Zurbaran, 
whose merits he cannot have failed to appreciate, 
he was reduced to earn his daily bread by painting 
coarse and hasty pictures for the Feria. 

Held in a broad street, branching from the 
northern end of the Old Alameda, and in front 
of the Church of All Saints, remarkable for its 
picturesque semi-Moorish belfry, this venerable 
market presents every Thursday an aspect which 
has changed but little since the days of Murillo. 
Indifferent meat, ill-savoured fish, fruit, vegetables, 
and coarse pottery, old clothes, old mats, and old 
iron, still cover the ground or load the stalls, as 
they did on the Thursdays three centuries ago, 
when the unknown youth stood there amongst 
gypsies, muleteers, and mendicant friars, selling 
for a few reals those productions of his early 
pencil, for which royal collectors are now ready 


to contend. Few painters are now to be found 
there, the demand for religious daubs having de- 
clined both in the Feria of Seville and in the 
streets of Santiago at Valladolid, and the Catalans 
at Naples, once flourishing marts for wares of 
that kind. In Murillo's time, these street-artists 
mustered in great numbers. Like the apprentice 
of Portugal, a Castilian emblem of presumption, 
who would cut out before he knew how to stitch, 
they gradually taught themselves the rudiments 
by boldly entering the highest walks of painting. 
Their works were sometimes executed in the open 
air, and they always kept brushes and colours at 
hand ready to make any alteration on the spot 
that customers might suggest, such as changing 
a St. Onophrius, briskly as the fretful porcupine, 
into St. Christopher the ferryman, or Our Lady 
of Carmel into St. Anthony of Padua. Vast 
quantities of this trash, as well as works of a 
better class, were bought up by the colonial mer- 
chants, and shipped off, with great stores of relics 
and indulgences, to adorn and enrich the thousand 
churches and convents, the gold and silver altars 
and jewelled shrines, of Transatlantic Spain. I'he 
artists who practised this extempore kind of paint- 
ing, and grappled with the difliculties of the palette 
before they had learned to draw, are compared by 
Cean Bermudcz to those intrepid students who 
seek to acquire a foreign language by speaking it, 
regardless of blunders, and afterwards, if oppor- 


tunity serves, improve their knowledge of the 
idiom by means of books. Of the success of this 
system, which has produced both able painters 
and excellent linguists, Murillo can hardly be 
cited as an example ; but he doubtless learned 
to apply the precepts of Castillo, and improved 
his manual skill by the rough offhand practice 
of the market-place. A picture of the Blessed 
Virgin, with the Infant Saviour on her knee, now 
hanging in the precious Murillo Room in the 
Museum at Seville, seems to belong to this early 
period. There is much promise of future excel- 
lence in the graceful ease of the heads ; but the 
colouring is poor and flat, and the whole is but 
cold and feeble when compared with the master- 
pieces which glow on the adjacent walls. 

Early in 1642, Pedro de Moya, returning from 
England and the school of Vandyck, resided for 
a while and painted some pictures at Seville. 
Murillo, who may have known him in the school 
of Castillo, or at least had seen some of his early 
works, was so struck by the favourable change 
which travel had wrought upon his style, that he 
himself resolved upon a pilgrimage to Flanders 
or Italy in search of improvement. Money, how- 
ever, to meet the expenses of such a journey, was 
first to be obtained by his own unaided exertions ; 
for his parents were now dead, leaving little 
behind them, and his genius had not yet recom- 
mended him to the good offices of any wealthy 

MURILLO 2 1 5 

or powerful patron. His resolution and energy 
overcame this obstacle. Buying a large quantity 
of canvas/ *he divided it into squares of various 
sizes, which he primed and prepared with his own 
hands for the pencil, and then converted into pic- 
tures of the more popular saints, landscapes, and 
flower-pieces. These he sold to the American 
traders for exportation, and thus obtained a sum 
suflicient for his purpose. He then placed his 
sister under the protection of some uncles and 
aunts, and, without communicating his plans or 
destination to any one, took the road to Madrid. 
Finding himself in the capital without friends 
or letters, he waited on his fellow-townsman 
Velasquez, then at the zenith of his fortune, and, 
telling him his story, begged for some introduc- 
tions to his friends at Rome. The King's painter 
asked him various questions about his family and 
connections, his master, and his motive for under- 
taking so long a journey, and, being pleased with 
his replies and demeanour, offered him lodging, 
which was thankfully accepted, in his own house, 
and procured him admission to the Alcazar, 
Escorial, and other royal galleries. There a new 
world of art opened to the young Andalusian ; 
he saw large instalments of all that he most 
wished to see, and conversed with the great 
masters of Italy and the Netherlands without 
crossing the Gulf of Lyons or the Pyrenees. 
During the absence of the Court in Aragon, he 


spent the summer of 1642 in diligently copying 
the works of Ribera, Vandyck, and his new patron. 
Returning from Zaragoza in the autumn, Velas- 
quez was so much pleased with his labours, that 
he advised him to restrict his attention to the 
works of the three artists whom he had taken for 
his models ; and, submitting the copies to the eye 
of the King, he likewise introduced the stranger 
to the favourable notice of the Count-Duke of 
Olivarez and the other courtiers of taste. The 
year following, Murillo shared in Velasquez's 
grief at the fall of the friendly minister. Con- 
tinuing to pursue his studies in retirement, and 
with unabated industry, at the return of the 
Court from the triumph of Lerida in 1644, he 
surprised Velasquez with some works of so high 
a merit, that that judicious critic pronounced 
him ripe for Rome, and offered him letters to 
facilitate his journey. But, whether recalled by 
his sister, or deeming that he had already reaped 
at Madrid all the advantages which Rome could 
offer, Murillo declined to quit his native soil, 
and, in spite of the earnest remonstrances of his 
friend, returned early in 1645 to Seville. 

When he paused, as all travellers pause, at the 
Cruz del Campo, to say a grateful Ave to the 
Virgin, or to look down on the domes and belfries 
of the noble city, there were few within its walls 
that had noted his absence, or even remembered 
the existence of the friendless painter who was 


now returning to become the pride of Andalusia. 
Soon after his arrival, the friars of the fine Fran- 
ciscan convent, behind the Casa del Ayuntamiento, 
had determined to expend a sum of money, col- 
lected by one of their begging brotherhood, upon 
a series of pictures for their small cloister. They 
wanted eleven large pieces, but the price which 
they proposed to give for these was too paltry to 
tempt any artist of name to undertake the task. 
Murillo, however, being needy and unknown, 
offered to fulfil the bargain, and the Franciscans, 
although doubting his competency, were happily 
induced by their parsimony or their poverty to 
close with the oflFer. They opened a field to the 
young energies of his genius, and he repaid the 
favour by rendering the walls of their convent 
famous throughout Spain. 

Each picture of the series was inscribed with 
certain verses, having a reference, but not always 
affording a key, to the subject. The first, which 
met the eye on entering the cloister and turning 
to the right, represented St. Francis, reclining on 
his iron pallet with a crucifix in his hand, and 
listening to the melody of a violin played near his 
ear by an angelic visitor. The countenance of 
the saint, beaming with devout ecstasy, and the 
graceful figure of the angel were finely conceived 
and no less carefully executed ; and in the colour- 
ing there was much of Ribera's strength, with a 
superadded softness and delicacy of tone. Next 


came San Diego of Alcala, kneeling in the act or 
blessing a copper pot of broth, which he was about 
to dispense to the poor at the convent door. A 
poor woman and her children, and a knot of 
ragged beggars and urchins, a group which might 
be studied in every street, and in which the artist 
may himself have figured as an expectant when he 
wrought for the Feria, were painted with all the 
life-like truth and accuracy of detail which dis- 
tinguish the early studies of Velasquez. Of the 
third and fourth pictures, Cean Bermudez does not 
name, and, perhaps, could not divine the subjects ; 
but both, he says, contained some excellent heads 
and draperies, and in one a distant landscape was 
flooded with light from a globe of fire, in which 
the soul of Philip II was supposed to be ascend- 
ing to heaven. The fifth, one of the finest of the 
series, represented the death of Santa Clara, an 
Italian nun, whose locks were shorn and whose 
veil was given by the hand of the Blessed St. 
Francis himself. Amongst a sorrowing group of 
sisters and friars, she lay with her dying eyes fixed 
on a vision of glory, wherein appeared the Saviour 
and Our Lady, attended by a train of virgins, 
bearing the radiant robe of her coming immor- 
tality. Vandyck himself might have painted the 
lovely head of Santa Clara ; and the beauty of the 
heavenly host contrasted finely with the wan nuns 
and coarse-featured friars beneath. Of the re- 
maining six, Cean Bermudez only informs us that 


one was a composition of two figures, and that 
another, in size a companion-piece to the Santa 
Clara, represented a Franciscan, seized with a holy 
rapture, when engaged in cooking for his convent, 
and kneeling in the air, whilst a flight of minis- 
tering angels performed his culinary functions. 
The latter bore the signature of the artist, 
B'''^ Stepff de Murillo, anno 1646 me. f. An- 
other, mentioned with high praise by Ponz, was a 
composition of six figures representing San Gil, 
patron of the greenwood, standing in a religious 
ecstasy in the presence of Pope Gregory IX. It 
found its way into the gallery of the late Mar- 
quess Aguado, and is now in England. Soult 
gutted the convent, and carried off all Murillo's 
pictures with the exception of one, which being 
too stiff to be rolled up was left behind, and once 
adorned the collection of Mr. Ford. It represents 
a holy Franciscan praying over the body of a dead 
greyfriar, as if about to restore him to life; and it 
is painted in a strong Ribera-like style. For once 
we may forgive the military robber, for great part 
of the stripped convent was destroyed by fire in 
1 8 10, nothing being left standing but the church, 
and some of the arches and three hund red marble 
columns that supported the cloisters. 

The fame of these pictures getting abroad, the 
Franciscan convent was soon thronged with artists 
and critics. A new star had arisen amongst them ; 
a painter had appeared, dropping as it were from 


the clouds, armed with a pencil that could assume 
at will the beauties of Ribera, Vandyck, and 
Velasquez. From the squalid stalls of the Feria, 
a poor and friendless youth had stepped, at once, 
into the foremost ranks of the artists of skilful 
and opulent Seville. From the moment that his 
works were placed in the Franciscan cloister, the 
name of Murillo began to rise in popular esteem, 
and to eclipse the time-honoured names of 
Herrera, Pacheco, and Zurbaran. The public 
was loud in his praise; and priors and noble 
patrons overwhelmed him with commissions. 
One of the first fruits of his sudden burst of 
reputation was a picture of the Flight into 
Egypt, executed for the fine Convent of Mercy, 
a house rich in the productions of the best pencils 
and chisels of Seville. 

In 1648, his worldly circumstances were suffi- 
ciently thriving to enable him not only to marry, 
but to obtain a rich and noble wife. Dona Beatriz 
de Cabrera y Sotomayor, born and possessing 
property at Pilas, a village five leagues south- 
west from Seville. Of this lady's life no fact 
or even date has been recorded; nor have her 
features and person survived in any known por- 
trait. But the fortunes of her husband and 
children afford fair evidence that her domestic 
duties were faithfully and ably fulfilled. 

By this alliance the social position of the suc- 
cessful artist was improved and determined, his 


means of hospitality were enlarged, and his house 
became the resort of the brethren of his craft and 
of the best society of the city. As the name of 
Murillo is not to be found in the gossiping treatise 
of Pacheco, it is probable that his success may 
have been regarded with some secret uneasiness 
by that busy veteran, jealous not only of his own 
fame, but of that of his son-in-law Velasquez. 
There can be no doubt, however, that the young 
painter appeared in the literary and artistic circle 
which assembled under the roof of Pacheco, at 
whose death he seems to have reigned in his 
stead as the judicious and courteous leader of 
his order. 

Soon after his marriage, Murillo changed his 
style of painting, forsaking that which the con- 
noisseurs have called his first or cold (Jrio) 
manner, for that which they designate his warm 
{calidd) or second style. His outlines became 
softer and his figures rounder, his backgrounds 
gained in depth of atmospheric efFect, and his 
whole colouring in transparency. Reynolds, bor- 
rowing the ancient criticism passed by Euphranor 
on the Theseus of Parrhasius, remarked that the 
nymphs of Barroccio and Rubens appear to have 
fed on roses. So a Spanish critic less elegantly, 
perhaps, but not less justly, said of Murillo that 
his flesh tints now seemed to be painted con sangre 
y leche^ with blood and milk. The earliest work 
in this second style, noticed by Cean Bermudez, 


hung in the Francisoui convent, among the master- 
pieces of the first manner. It was a picture of 
Our Lady of the Conception, with a friar seated 
and writing at her feet, and it was painted, in 
1652, for the Brotherhood of the True Cross, 
who placed it in the convent, and paid the artist 
2500 reals. 

Three years afterwards, in 1655, by order of 
Juan Federigui, archdeacon of Carmona, he exe- 
cuted the two famous pictures of St. Leander and 
St. Isidore, now in the great sacristy of the 
Cathedral. These saintly brethren, natives of 
Carthagena, flourished in the sixth and seventh 
centuries; each in turn filled the archiepiscopal 
throne of Seville, and they had a third brother 
who was Bishop of Ecija, and now enjoys a place 
in the calendar as San Fulgencio. Murillo has 
painted them in their mitres and white robes, and 
seated in great chairs. In Leander the elder he 
has portrayed the features of Alonso de Herrera, 
marker of the choir. The mild and venerable 
countenance, full of blended dignity, meekness, 
and intelligence, agrees well with the character 
ascribed by ecclesiastical history to the good 
archbishop, who gained over King Leovigild and 
his Arian Goths to the Catholic faith by his 
gentleness and patience. It bespeaks a life 
moulded on the precepts of St. Paul, and might 
pass for the true likeness of some holy Borromeo 
or Bedell. 


The learned Isidore, a busy prelate, and an 
unwearied student, is represented as a younger 
man, with a noble but less benignant countenance ; 
he is yet in the vigour of life, and not troubled 
with any thought of his transit, so finely painted 
by Roelas ; the book in his hand bears an inscrip- 
tion announcing one of his favourite doctrines, 
" Credite o godi consubstantionem Dei," and he 
has the threatening eye of the keen controver- 
sialist, ready to slay or be slain for any jot or 
tittle of his dogmatical creed. The real owner of 
this fine and highly intellectual, though somewhat 
stern, face was the licentiate Juan Lopez Talaban. 
As if to mark more distinctly the difference be- 
tween the two men, it is executed in a harder 
manner than its companion. The heads, hands, 
and all the accessories of these two noble portraits 
are all finished with admirable effect, but each 
figure is somewhat short, an error into which 
Murillo sometimes fell. 

About the same time, or soon after, he painted 
for the Chapter another large picture, "The 
Nativity of the Blessed Virgin," which hung 
behind the high altar of the Cathedral, until in 
due time it became the prey of Soult. It was 
one of the most pleasing specimens of his second 
style, and the skill of the composition left nothing 
to be desired. In the foreground a graceful group 
of women and angels were engaged in dressing the 
new-born babe, and the bare left arm of one of the 


ministering maidens was the envy of the ladies of 
Seville for its roundness of form and beauty of 
colour, and rivalled in public admiration the 
leg of Adam in the famous picture by Vargas. 
Beyond, St. Anne was seen in bed, with St. 
Joachim leaning over her ; above, in the air, joyful 
cherubs hovered near the auspicious scene; and 
the distance was closed by a pleasant landscape. 

Appreciating the genius of the great artist, the 
Chapter gave him another order in the following 
year, 1656, in compliance with which he painted, 
for the price of 10,000 reals, a large picture of 
St. Anthony of Padua, one of the most celebrated 
works, and still a gem of the Githedral, hanging 
in the chapel of the baptistery. Kneeling near a 
table, the shaven brown-frocked saint is surprised 
by a visit from the Infant Jesus, a charming naked 
babe, who descends in a golden flood of glory, 
walking the bright air as if it were the earth, 
while around Him floats and hovers a company 
of cherubs, most of them children, forming a 
garland of graceful forms and lovely faces. 
Gazing up in rapture at this dazzling vision, 
the saint kneels, with arms outstretched, to 
receive the approaching Saviour. On the table 
at his side there is a vase containing white lilies, 
painted with such Zeuxis-like skill that birds, 
wandering amongst the aisles, have been seen 
attempting to perch on it and peck the flowers ; 
and to the left of the picture an arch discloses the 


architectural perspective of the cloister. Palomino 
has an improbable story that the table and other 
accessories were put in by Vald6s Leal.* In 1833 
this noble work was repaired, which in Spain means 
repainted, so that many a delicate touch of 
Murillo's pencil has disappeared. Enough, how- 
ever, is left to show the genius of the original 
design and the splendour of the original colours. 
Over it hangs a smaller picture by the same hand, 
representing the Baptism of our Lord, a work 
fresh and pleasing in tone, but somewhat defec- 
tive both in composition and drawing. 

The same year saw the renovation of the small 
but ornate Church of Sta. Maria la Blanca, once 
a Jewish synagogue, and now a chapel-of-ease to 
the Sagrario of the Cathedral. The canon, Don 
Justino Neve y Yevenes, a great friend and 
patron of Murillo, employed him to paint for 
this church four large pictures of a semi-circular 
form, two for the nave, and one for each of the 
lateral aisles. The two first were to illustrate the 
history of the festival of Our Lady of the Snow, 
or the dedication of the Church of Sta. Maria 
Maggiore at Rome. In the days of Pope Liberius, 
says the legend, there dwelt at Rome a certain 
senator named John, whose wife, a rich and noble 
lady, bore him no offspring. Resigned to the will 
of Heaven, and being no less pious than opulent, 
the childless pair determined to adopt the Blessed 

' Cf. Palomino, vol. iii. p. 625. 



Virgin as their heir, and for that purpose they 
daily besought her to declare her pleasure as to 
the investment of their wealth. Moved by their 
supplications, the Queen of Heaven at last ap- 
peared to each of them in a dream on the night 
of the 4th of August, and accepted the inherit- 
ance, on condition of their repairing next day to 
the Esquiline Hill, and there, on a piece of ground 
which they should find covered with snow, erect- 
ing a church in her honour. When day broke, 
the sleepers having compared their dreams, went 
to submit the case to the Pope, whom they found, 
however, already informed of the matter by a 
revelation from the Virgin. Having received 
the pontifical benediction, and attended by a 
retinue of priests, and a great throng of people, 
they next proceeded to the Esquiline, found a 
portion of it white, beneath the August sun, with 
miraculous snow, and marked out thereon the 
site of a church, which, when finished, they 
endowed with all their substance, and called by 
the name of their celestial legatee. Thither was 
brought, after many ages, the adored manger- 
cradle of our Lord ; and there arose the mere- 
tricious temple of Rainaldi and Fuga, which, 
however, records in its proud title the piety of 
the senator and his spouse, who first dedicated a 
church to the Mother of the Saviour within the 
walls of the Eternal City. In his delineation of 
the first part of the story, Murillo has represented 


the Roman lord dreaming in his chair over a great 
book and leaning his head on a table, with deep 
sleep written in every line of his noble counte- 
nance and figure. His dress of black velvet is, 
like that of Pareja's St. Matthew, the costume of 
a Spanish hidalgo. The lady lies asleep on the 
ground ; above them appears, seated on a cloud 
and surrounded by a glory, the Virgin, one of the 
loveliest of Murillo's Madonnas. In the next 
picture the devout pair relate their dream to the 
Pope Liberius, a grand old ecclesiastic, like one 
of Titian's pontiffs. Near the throne stands a 
white-robed friar applying a pair of spectacles to 
his nose and scrutinising the not very interesting 
dame in a manner more usual with his cloth than 
proper to his calling. Far in the distance the 
procession is seen approaching the snow-patch 
on the Esquiline. In "The Dream," the finer 
of the two pictures, is noticed the commencement 
of his third or vapoury (vaporous) style, in which 
the outlines are lost in the light and shade, as they 
are in the rounded forms of nature. Both were 
carried oflF by the French, and placed in the 
Louvre, but they were happily rescued at the 
peace. They now hang in the Academy of San 
Fernando, at Madrid, in tawdry Parisian frames, 
absurdly decorated at the upper corners with 
plans and elevations of the ancient basilica and 
of the present Church of Sta. Maria Maggiore. 
The remaining pictures, a '* Virgin of the Con- 


ception " adored by churchmen, and a figure of 
Faith holding the elements of the Eucharist and 
likewise worshipped by various saintly personages, 
were not recovered from the grip of the GauL 
To the Church of Sta. Maria la Blanca, which 
at one time possessed, besides these pictures, an 
excellent Mater Dolorosa and a St. John by 
Murillo, there now remains but a single work of 
his, a " Last Supper," painted in his early style, 
but at what period is not known. 

In 1658, Murillo was in some degree diverted 
from the labours of his studio by a scheme which 
he had conceived, of establishing a public Academy 
of Art. The design was a bold one and encom- 
passed with difficulties, which, at Madrid, had 
baffled not only the artists in the last reign, but 
even Philip IV, whom the interests of art, beyond 
all other objects, were likely to arouse from 
his magnificent indolence on the throne. The 
Sevillian painter, however, succeeded in effect- 
ing what the absolute monarch had found im- 
practicable. By his address and good temper 
he obtained the concurrence of Valdis Leal, who 
believed himself the first of painters, and of the 
younger Herrera, who had lately returned from 
Italy, with his natural Andalusian presumption, 
greatly improved by travel. The conflicting 
jealousies of his rivals being thus reconciled or 
quieted, the Academy was first opened for the 
purposes of instruction, in one of the apartments 


of the Exchange, on the evening of the ist of 
January 1660. On the eleventh of the same 
month, twenty-three of the leading artists met 
to draw up a constitution for a new society. It 
was then agreed that its afFairs should be managed 
by two presidents, of whom Murillo was the 
first, and Herrera the second ; by two consuls, 
Sebastian de Llanos y Vald6s and Pedro Honorio 
de Palencia ; a fiscal, Cornelius Schut ; a secretary, 
Ignacio Iriarte ; and a deputy, Juan de Vald^s 
Leal. The duties of the presidents, who were 
to act on alternate weeks, were to direct the 
progress of the pupils, resolve their doubts and 
settle their disputes, impose fines and preserve 
order in the school, and select those whose skill 
entitled them to the rank of academician. The 
consuls, fiscal, secretary, and deputy formed the 
council of the president; the consul seems to 
have been his assistant or substitute ; and the 
business of the other three officers was to collect 
the subscriptions and fines, and to keep the 
accounts. The expenses of coal, candle, models 
and other necessaries were defrayed by a monthly 
subscription of six reals, paid by each of the 
twenty members; while scholars were liberally 
admitted for the purpose of study, on the payment 
of whatever fee they could afford. The rules 
were few and simple. Each disciple on admission 
was to profess his orthodoxy in these words : — 
" Praised be the most Holy Sacrament, and the 


pure Conception of Our Lady/' Alahado sea el 
Santisimo Sacramento y la limpia Concepcion de 
Nuestra Senora. Conversation on subjects not 
belonging to the business of the school was pro- 
hibited, and the offender was fined if he perse- 
vered in it after the president had rung his bell 
twice. A fine was likewise exacted for swear- 
ing, profane language, and oflFences against good 

These particulars are derived from the original 
records of the Academy, formerly in the library 
of Don Francisco de Bruna y Ahumada, at 
Seville, and, in great part, printed by Cean 
Bermudcz. In the first list of subscribing 
members, dated on the nth of January 1660, 
the name of Francisco de Herrera stands first, 
and that of Bartolom6 Murillo second. In 
February, the society gained one new member, 
and in March four more. Two, however, fell 
off in April, and on the first of November 
sixteen only remained, President Herrera being 
amongst the deserters. Some little change had 
meanwhile taken place in the offices and office- ^ 
bearers ; for in the minutes of the meeting held 
on the last-mentioned day, Valdes appears, not 
as deputy but as alcalde or chief of the art of 
painting, with Matias de Carbajal for a coadjutor, 
and Palencia, not as consul, but as alcalde of 
the gilders. At this meeting Pedro de Medina 
Valbuena was appointed mayor-domo or steward, 


to manage the money matters of the Academy. 
And as the expenses were now to be divided 
amongst a smaller number of members, the 
monthly subscription payable by each was raised 
to eight reals ; and it was voted that each pupil 
should pay sixteen maravedis for every night that 
he attended the school. 

During the second year of its existence, 1661, 
the Academy seems to have been directed by 
Murillo; but some leaves of the Bruna manu- 
script being lost, it does not appear who succeeded 
him as a president in 1662. Llanos y Vald6s 
became president in 1 663, with Carbajal as steward ; 
and in 1664, Juan de Vald6s, having ingratiated 
himself with his brethren, was elected for four 
years to the first office, and Cornelius Schut to 
the second. Some dispute, however, arising, 
Vald6s retired from the chair and the Academy 
on the 3rd of October 1666, and was succeeded 
by Llanos, Martinez de Gradilla being made 
steward. Medina Valbuena was president in 
1667-8, and Llanos, for the third time, the year 
following. Juan Chamorro was chosen in 1670; 
Medina was re-elected in 1671 ; and in the two 
next years the chair was filled by Schut. The 
Academy was now fairly launched, and sailing 
before prosperous breezes. Its members had 
greatly increased in number, and several men of 
rank were enrolled amongst them. The meeting 
of the 5th of November 1673, the last of which 


a minute is found in the Bruna manuscript, was 
attended by forty-three academicians, and by Don 
Manuel de Guzman Manrique de Zufiiga, Mar- 
quess of Villamanrique, who had succeeded the 
deceased Count of Arenales as their " most noble 

Although Murillo may be considered the 
founder of the Academy, it is evident that the 
jealousy of envious rivals or the call of his own 
studio soon prevented him from taking any active 
part in the conduct of its aflfairs. But the con- 
stitution laid down during his rule underwent but 
little change. The president and mayor-domo 
were the only officers elected by the whole body ; 
each president being free to choose his own con- 
suls and assistants ; and the practice of having 
two presidents at the same time appears to have 
been discontinued. The course of instruction 
pursued was intended not for mere beginners, 
but for those who had already acquired some 
knowledge of art; there being no drawings 
to copy, the studies were, made entirely from 
the living model or from the lay-figure; and 
colours were largely used by the scholars, a 
practice laid aside, says Cean Bermudez, in the 
later academies. It cannot be said that this in- 
stitution exerted any great influence on Sevillian 
painting. Like other, and even royal academies, 
it never produced any painters of first-rate merit ; 
nor did it arrest the decav of taste in the next 


reign. But without it, perhaps, that decay might 
have been more fatal and final ; it at least afforded 
an asylum for traditions of the great masters, 
and to Murillo himself there must have been a 
virtuous satisfaction in the thought that he had 
provided for the young artists around him some 
of the advantages of which he had himself felt 
the want twenty years before. 

In 1668, the Cathedral chapter-room being 
under repair, Murillo was employed to retouch 
the allegorical designs of Cespedes, and to execute 
eight oval half-length pictures of saints, and a 
full-length Virgin of the Conception. The saints 
are pleasing, but not of very high merit. Those 
on the right side are Hermengild, Isidore, Arch- 
bishop Pius, and Justa ; those on the left, Rufina, 
King Ferdinand, Leander, and Archbishop Lau- 
reano, whose head, being cut off, retained the 
faculty of speech. The Virgin is a magnificent 
dark-haired Madonna, with the usual accompani- 
ment of cherubs bearing palms and flowers. For 
the sacristy of the Chapel de la Antigua he also 
painted, about this time, the Infants Christ and 
St. John, and the " Repose of the Virgin," works 
which have disappeared, probably by French 

We now approach the most glorious period of 
Murillo's career. There existed at Seville a pious 
corporation of considerable antiquity, known as 
the Brotherhood of the Holy Charity, and pos- 


sessing the Hospital of San Jorge. About the 
middle of the seventeenth century, however, this 
hospital had fallen into great poverty and decay. 
By the negligence or knavery of the guardian- 
guild, its property had dwindled to nothing, the 
fabric was a mouldering ruin, and the church a 
roosting-place for pigeons. Its forlorn condition 
attracted about 1661 the attention of Don Miguel 
Manara Vicentelo de Leca, Knight of Calatrava, 
whose life and fortune were dedicated to works 
of piety and devotion. As a member of the guild, 
this pious gentleman took upon himself the task 
of raising the funds necessary to restore the hos- 
pital to a state of prosperity. At the outset his 
scheme did not find much favour with the nobles 
and rich traders of Seville, and the first contri- 
bution which he received was from a mendicant 
named Luis, who gave fifty crowns, the savings 
of his life, to the service of God and the poor. 
But his perseverance and his own generous ex- 
ample finally overcame all obstacles ; donations 
and bequests flowed in, and, before the close of 
his useful life in 1679, he had completed his pious 
work at the expense of more than half-a-million 
of ducats. On the slender foundation laid by the 
noble-hearted beggar he reared the present beauti- 
ful Church of San Jorge, with its rich altars and 
matchless pictures, and the Hospital (La Caridad) 
with its marble cloisters and spacious halls, and 
the train of priests, domestics, and sisters of mercy 


maintained to minister to the necessities, in the 
words of the annual report of the guild, of "their 
masters and lords the poor.'* 

The hospital was rebuilt in the Greco-Romano 
style by the architect Bernardo Simon de Pineda. 
The front has little beauty, but the cloister is 
graceful and finely proportioned. The interior 
of the church is one of the most elegant in Seville. 
It consists of a single aisle, widening beneath the 
lofty and richly-decorated dome, and terminated 
by the high altar, a vast fabric of twisted columns 
and massive cornices, entirely gilt and raised several 
steps above the rest of the pavement. For this 
sumptuous structure Manara provided lamps and 
candelabra, plate and other ornaments of fitting 
splendour, and he commissioned his friend Murillo 
to paint no less than eleven pictures. Three of 
these pieces, representing the Annunciation of the 
Blessed Virgin, the Infant Saviour, and the Infant 
St. John, still adorn the lateral altars, and else- 
where would be considered as gems. The re- 
maining eight, treating of scriptural subjects 
proper to the place, are the finest works of that 
master. Ere the coming of the French spoiler, four 
hung on either side of the church — " Moses Strik- 
ing the Rock," ** The Return of the Prodigal Son," 
*' Abraham Receiving the Three Angels," and the 
" Charity of San Juan de Dios," on the left or 
Gospel side ; and the " Miracle of the Loaves and 
Fishes," ** Our Lord Healing the Paralytic at the 


Pool of Bethesda,"" St. Peter Released from Prison 
by the Angel," and " St. Elizabeth of Hungary 
Tending the Sick," on that of the Epistle. On 
these works Muriilo seems to have been employed 
during four years, and in 1674 he received the 
following prices: for the Moses, 13,300 reals; 
for the Loaves and Fishes, 15,975 ; for San Juan 
de Dios and its companion-picture St. Elizabeth, 
16,840; and for the four others, Abraham, the 
Prodigal, the Healing the Paralytic, and St. Peter, 
32,000; making in all the sum of 78,115 reals, 
or about j^8oo. Five were carried off by Soult, 
who gave one to the Imperial Louvre and retained 
four for his own salerooms. 

Happily for the hospital and for Seville, the 
two colossal compositions of "Moses" and "The 
Loaves and Fishes " still hang beneath the cornices 
whence springs the dome of the church, ** like 
ripe oranges on the bough where they originally 
budded." Long may they cover their native 
walls, and enrich, as well as adorn, the institu- 
tion of Maiiara! Both are painted in a light, 
sketchy manner, and with less than Murillo's 
usual brilliancy of colour. In the picture of 
the great miracle of the Jewish dispensation, the 
Hebrew prophet stands beside the rock in Horeb, 
with hands pressed together and uplifted eyes, 
thanking the Almighty for the stream which has 
just gushed forth at the stroke of his mysterious 
rod. His head turning slightly to the right, with 


its horn-shaped halo and full silver beard, is noble 
and expressive ; and his figure, robed in flowing 
violet drapery, majestic and commanding. Aaron 
appears behind his brother, but in the counte- 
nance of the high priest the gratitude seems not 
unmingled with surprise. Immediately around 
them are grouped fifteen figures, men, women, 
and children, absorbed in the business of quench- 
ing their thirst, whence the picture has been 
called " La Sed^ Amongst them there is one 
introduced with great dramatic effect, a mother 
drinking eagerly from a jug, and, ** forgetful of 
sucking child," turning aside her head to avoid 
the outstretched hand of the clamorous infant 
in her arms. The water, falling firom the rock, 
forms a stream, to the left of which there is a 
smaller group of nine figures, of which the most 
striking feature is the woman who, with one 
hand holds a cup to the lips of the youngest 
boy, and with the other restrains the eagerness 
of his elder brother. Here rises the head of a 
camel, patiently awaiting his turn ; there a white 
mule, laden with jars, applies his nose to an iron 
pot newly filled from the fountain ; and sundry 
dogs and sheep, mingled with the people, lend 
variety to the composition. The sunburnt boy 
on the mule, and the girl, somewhat older, 
near him, holding up her pitcher to be filled, 
are traditionally called portraits of the painter's 
children. In the background another com- 


pany of people, with their beasts, are seen 
descending a rugged path to the spring, and 
rocky hills close the distance. As a composi- 
tion this wonderful picture can hardly be sur- 
passed. The rock, a huge, isolated, brown crag, 
much resembles in form, size, and colour that 
which is still pointed out as the rock of Moses 
by the Greek monks of the convent of St. Cathe- 
rine, in the real wilderness of Horeb. It forms 
the central object, rising to the top of the canvas, 
and dividing it into two unequal portions. In 
front of the rock the eye at once singles out 
the erect figure of the prophet standing forward 
from the throng ; and the lofty emotion of that 
great leader, looking with gratitude to Heaven, 
is finely contrasted with the downward regards 
of the multitude, forgetful of the giver in the 
anticipation of the enjoyment of the gift. Each 
head and figure is an elaborate study, each coun- 
tenance has a distinctive character, and even of 
the sixteen vessels brought to the spring no two 
are alike in form. A duplicate or large sketch 
of this picture, stolen from some other collection, 
hangs, or once hung, in the staircase of Soult's 
receiving house at Paris. Its authenticity, how- 
ever, is questionable, as it is not mentioned by 
Cean Bermudez, who notices a study of the 
woman giving her child drink, which once hung 
in the convent of Barefooted Carmelites at Seville. 
The " Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes '* is not 


equal to its twin picture. The principal figures 
in the foreground are arranged in two independent 
groups, leaving a great open space between dis- 
closing the multitudes clustered on the distant 
uplands. Our Lord and his disciples on the one 
hand, and the knot of spectators on the other, 
form, therefore, two distinct pictures, which might 
be separated without much injury to their signi- 
ficance. The head of the Saviour is inferior in 
dignity to that of Moses; His position is not 
sufficiently prominent ; nor are any of the apostles 
remarkable for elevation of character. The young 
woman with her child in her arms, and the old 
hag who looks on with incredulous wonder at the 
proceedings of the Master of the miraculous feast, 
are full of life and finely contrasted ; and the 
lad with the loaves and fishes is an admirable 
study of a Sevillian urchin. Of this picture, as 
well as of its companion, Soult has, or once 
had, a large repetition of considerable merit. The 
small original sketch is in the rich collection of 
Mr. Munro. 

The "Charity of San Juan de Dios" is the only 
other piece of this noble series that remains to the 
hospital. It hangs in its original place on the left 
wall of the church, near the great portal. The 
Good Samaritan of Granada is represented carrying 
a sick man on his shoulders by night and sinking 
under the weight, of which he is relieved by the 
opportune aid of an angel. Perceiving his divine 


assistant, he looks back towards him with an 
expression of grateful awe. This picture is 
coloured with great power. The dark form of 
the burden and the sober grey frock of the bearer 
are dimly seen in the darkness, on which the 
glorious countenance of the seraph and his rich 
yellow drapery tells like a burst of sunshine. 

"St. Elizabeth," the appropriate companion- 
piece, although lost to Seville, happily is still 
preserved to Spain. Rescued from the Louvre, it 
was detained on some frivolous pretext at Madrid, 
where it now embellishes the Academy of San 
Fernando. Elizabeth, daughter of King Andrew 
and Queen Gertrude of Hungary, is one of the 
most amiable personages of mediaeval hagiology. 
Born early in the fourteenth century, her humility, 
piety, and almsdeeds were the wonder of her 
father's Court before she became the wife of Duke 
Ludwig of Thuringia. As sovereign princess her 
whole life was consecrated to religion and charity. 
She fasted rigidly, rose at midnight to pray, 
walked in processions barefoot and clad in sack- 
cloth, and maintained a daily table for nine 
hundred poor, and an hospital where, in spite of 
the scorn and murmurs of her ladies, she per- 
formed the most revolting duties of sick-nurse. 
But her lord dying in Sicily of wounds received 
in the Holy Land, she was despoiled in a few 
years of her wealth and dignities, and, compelled 
to seek for that charity which she had so munifi- 


cently bestowed, it was sometimes her lot to 
endure the insults of wretches who had partaken 
of her bounties. All these slings and arrows of 
her fortune the good Duchess suffered with 
angelic meekness. Entering, it is said, the third 
order of St. Francis, prayer and tending the sick 
continued to be her daily employ and communion 
in visions with our Lord and Blessed Virgin her 
only solace, till her death in her twenty-fourth 
year. The miracles wrought at her tomb at 
Marburg obtained her canonisation by Gregory 
IX. Muriilo*s composition in honour of this 
royal lady consists of nine figures assembled in 
one of the halls of her hospital. In the centre 
stands " the king's daughter of Hungary," arrayed 
in the dark robe and white headgear of a nun, 
surmounted by a small coronet, and she is engaged 
in washing at a silver basin the scald head of a 
beggar boy, which, being painted with revolting 
adherence to nature, has obtained for the picture 
the Spanish name of Tinoso. Two of her ladies, 
bearing a silver ewer and a tray with cups and a 
napkin, stand at her right hand, and from behind 
there peers a spectacled duenna ; to her left hand 
there is a second boy, likewise a tinoso^ removing, 
with great caution and a wry face, the plaster 
which covers his head, a cripple resting on his 
crutches, and an old woman seated on the step of 
the dais. More in the foreground, to the right 
of the group, a half-naked beggar, with his head 


bound up, leisurely removes the bandage from an 
ulcer on his leg, painted with a reality so curious 
and so disgusdng that the eye is both arrested 
and sickened^ In the distance, through a window 
or opening, is seen a group of poor people seated 
at table and waited on by their gentle hostess. In 
this picture, although it has suffered somewhat 
from rash restoration, the management of the 
composition and the lights, the brilliancy of the 
colouring, and the manual skill of the execution 
are above all praise. Some objection may, perhaps, 
be made to the exhibition of so much that is 
sickening in the details ; but this, while it is 
justified by the legend, also heightens the moral 
effect of the picture. The disgust felt by the 
spectator is evidently shared by the attendant 
ladies ; yet the high-bom dame continues her self- 
imposed task, her pale and pensive countenance 
betraying no inward repugnance, and her dainty 
fingers shrinking from no service that can alleviate 
the human misery and exemplify her devotion to 
her master. The old hag, whose brown, scraggy 
neck and lean arms enhance by contrast the deli- 
cate beauty of the saint, alone seems to have 
leisure or inclination to repay her with a look of 
grateful admiration. The distant alcove in which 
the table is spread, with its arches and Doric 
pillars, forms a graceful background, displaying 
the purity of Murillo*s architectural taste. 
The four pictures, irretrievably carried off by 


Soult, long waited for purchasers in the hotel of that 
plundering picture-dealer. " Abraham receiving 
the Angels" and " The Prodigars Return," being 
sold some years since to the Duke of Sutherland, 
now enrich the gallery of Stafford House. In the 
first the Patriarch advances from the door of his 
tent, which resembles the corner of a ruinous 
Spanish venta, to greet the three strangers ap- 
proaching with uplifted staves. His turbaned 
head and his figure clothed in dark drapery are 
grave and venerable ; but the angels are deficient 
in dignity and grace, as is justly remarked by 
Cean Bermudez, who likewise objects to the want 
of that family likeness in their faces which he 
commends in El Mudo's'picture on the same sub- 
ject at the Escorial. In "The Prodigal's Return," 
a composition of nine figures, the repentant youth, 
locked in the embrace of his father, is, of course, 
the principal figure ; his pale, emaciated counten- 
ance bespeaks the hardships of his husk-coveting 
time, and the embroidery of his tattered robe the 
splendour of his riotous living. A little white 
dog leaping up to caress him aids in telling the 
story. On one side of the group a man and boy 
lead in the fatted calf; on the other appear three 
servants bearing a light blue silk dress of Spanish 
fashion and the gold ring, and one of them seems 
to be murmuring at the honours in preparation 
for the lost one. 

" The Healing of the Paralytic," purchased by 


Mr. Tomline, coimsts of five principal figui 
our Lord, three apostles, and the subject of the 
miracle. The head of the Saviour is one of the 
finest delineations of manly beauty ever executed 
by Murillo ; and the shoulder of the sick man, 
although too youthful and healthy, as Cean Ber- 
mudez justly remarks, for a paralytic of thirty- 
eight years standing, is a wonderfiil anatomical 
study. Above in the sky hovers, in a blaze of 
glory, the angel that " troubled the water ** ; and 
the distance is closed by an elegant architectural 
perspective with small figures, the porch and ex- 
pectant patients of Bethesda. In richness of colour 
this fine work is not inferior even to the St. Eliza- 
beth. Our Lord's robe is of that soft violet hue 
which Joan6s and the painters of Valencia loved ; 
while the mantle of St. Peter, who stands at his 
right, is of the deep Sevillian brown known as the 
negro de hueso^ because made by Murillo, as by the 
Andalusian artists of the present time, from the 
beef-bones of the daily olla. The arcades in the 
background may have been suggested by the beau- 
tiful cloisters of the convent of Mercy, now the 

The companion-picture, the "Release of St. 
Peter," is the only piece of the series which re- 
mained unsold on the hands of the plunderer.^ 
Seated on the floor of the dungeon, the apostle 
seems newly awakened from slumber ; and his 

* Now at St. Petersburg. 



venerable countenance, full of glad amazement, 
is lit up by the glory which radiates from the 
graceful form of the angel, and pales the ineffectual 
glimmer of the prison-lamp behind. 

In these eight celebrated pictures, Murillo evi- 
dently determined to leave to posterity an example 
of the variety of his style and of the full compass 
and vigour of his genius. Of the relative merits 
of each it is very difficult to judge, as only two 
of them, the Moses and the St. Elizabeth, have 
been engraved. The most faulty is full of beau- 
ties that would do honour to any painter. Con- 
sidered as an effort of mind, the Moses deserves 
the first place, being the subject which presented 
the greatest difficulties to the artist and the 
widest scope for his invention. Both " The Pro- 
digal's Return,*' however, and the St. Elizabeth 
are more perfect as works of art, being composed 
with equal skill, and finished with greater care 
and higher technical excellence. Cean Bermudez, 
who enjoyed the advantage of seeing them alto- 
gether, each in the light and place for which 
Murillo painted it, seems to prefer these two to 
all the rest. Soult, the robber of churches and 
hospitals, has not only deprived the critic of all 
opportunity of comparing one with the others, 
but has infinitely marred the moral significance of 
each of the exiled and scattered pictures. On 
the walls of the Prado or of mansions in Paris or 
London, they have lost the voice with which they 


spoke to the heart from the altars of their native 
church. No poor patient, ere returning to the busy 
haunts of men, kneels now before *^ The Healing 
of the Paralytic,*' in gratitude to Him who stood 
by the pool of Bethesda ; no pale sister of charity, 
on her way to her labours of love in the hospital, 
implores the protection, or is cheered by the 
example, of the gentle St. Elizabeth. At Seville 
these pictures of charity were powerful and elo- 
quent homilies, in which the piety of Miguel 
Manara yet spake through the pencil of his friend. 
In the unfamiliar halls of the stranger they are 
now mere works of art, specimens of Murillo, 
articles of costly furniture, less esteemed, perhaps, 
and less appropriate than some Idalian glade ima- 
gined by Albano, some voluptuous Pompadour 
garden-scene, the offspring of Watteau. 

It was not only the interior of the hospital of 
Charity that was indebted to the pencil of Murillo. 
In the florid front of the church are inserted five 
large designs, wrought in blue glazed tiles, or 
azulejos^ and said to have been executed from his 
drawings. The centre and largest piece, of which 
the annexed woodcut will convey some idea, repre- 
sents Charity ; those on either side are Faith and 
Hope; and the knightly saints below, Santiago 
and San Jorge. They are amongst the best exist- 
ing specimens of a style of architectural decora- 
tion originally borrowed from the Moors and 
long very common at Seville. On towers, belfries, 


and gateways the efFect of these tile-pictures, or 
bands of gay-coloured tiles, is bright and cheerful, 
and the material is enduring and inaccessible to 
injury from weather. Had the saints of Vargus 
been painted upon this baked clay, instead of 
perishable plaster, they might still have frowned 
or smiled from their Moorish niches in the Giralda. 

Murillo was the chosen painter of the Franciscan 
order. In a Franciscan convent he first achieved 
his fame, and the brown-frocked Franciscan was 
ever a favourite subject of his pencil. He was 
probably yet working for Mafiara and the hospital 
of Charity, when he undertook to furnish with 
paintings the church of another convent of St. 
Francis, known as the convent of Capuchins, with- 
out the city walls. Founded near the Carmona 
gate, on a piece of ground once occupied by the 
monastery of St. Leander, and the church of Sta. 
Rufina and Sta. Justa, this religious house was begun 
so early as 1627 ; but the building being carried 
on with more than Spanish slowness, the chapel 
was not completed till after 1670. The Capu- 
chins, however, had no cause to regret the delay, 
which gave them Murillo for a painter, instead of 
Herrera or Zurbaran. Silver and gold they had 
none, but they had a large library of ecclesiastical 
folios, and, in the works of the great master of 
Seville, they were richer than any brotherhood in 

Upwards of twenty pictures were executed, in 


his best time, expressly for these fortunate Capu- 
chins, and placed under his own direction in 
their otherwise unimportant little church. The 
retablo of the high altar was enriched with nine 
of these, the Virgin granting to St. Francis the 
Jubilee of the Porciuncula — the largest, says Cean 
Bermudez, but not the best of the whole; Sta. 
Rufina and Sta. Justa ; St. Leander and St. Bona- 
venture ; St. John Baptist in the Desert ; St. 
Joseph with the Infant Jesus; St. Anthony of 
Padua ; St. Felix of Cantalicio (these two half- 
length figures) ; a charming Virgin and Child 
(likewise half-length), on the door of the taber- 
nacle of the Host, and the holy kerchief of Sta. 
Veronica. A Crucifixion, painted on a wooden 
cross, stood on its own stand on the altar. Eight 
grand historical subjects adorned the lateral altars : 
the Annunciation of the Blessed Mary ; the Virgin 
with the dead Saviour in her arms ; St. Anthony 
of Padua and the Infant Christ; the Virgin of 
the Conception ; St. Francis embracing the Cruci- 
fied Redeemer ; the Nativity of Our Lord ; the 
Vision of St. Felix, and the Charity of St. Thomas 
of Villanueva. Besides these, there was another 
Virgin of the Conception of remarkable beauty ; 
two pictures of the Archangel Michael, a Guar- 
dian-angel, and some smaller pictures in various 
situations. The dingy and decayed chapel, 
stripped of these splendid works, now serves as 
a parish church. The bearded Capuchins, who 


used to linger in the cloisters and display their 
treasures to the stranger, relating the legends of 
each picture, and themselves looking like figures 
that had walked out of Murillo's canvas, are 
gone, never to return. One poor old friar, the 
last of the brotherhood, keeps the keys of the 
church, and points out to the unfrequent visitor 
where the master altar-pieces once hung, and a 
few monkish portraits that yet moulder in the 

The immense altar-piece of the Porciuncula, 
exchanged by the foolish monks for some modern 
daubs for their cloister, sometime before the dis- 
solution of the convents, after passing through the 
hands of several picture-dealers and the Infant 
Don Sebastian, is now in the National Museum 
at Madrid. The design is pleasing ; the Saviour 
and the Virgin appear to St. Francis, who kneels 
at the floor of his cavern, whilst a flight of lovely 
cherubim, thirty-three of whom are distinctly 
visible, shower down upon his holy head red and 
white roses, the blossoms of the briars wherewith 
he scourged himself; thus indicating the moral, 
that as the roses of mundane delights have their 
thorns, so the thorns of pious austerity are not 
without their roses. But as each possessor of the 
picture that intervened betwixt the friars and the 
Infant has done his part in restoring and repaint- 
ing it, the colouring belongs to the moderns, and 
nothing remains of Murillo but the outline. 


Happily, however, not all the Capuchin pictures 
are lost to Seville. In the Museum seventeen of 
them, gathered into one chamber, form a match- 
less collection of the works of the great Sevillian 
painter. Amongst these the Sta. Rufina and Sta. 
Justa, with their usual palm-branches, pots, and 
Giralda, deserve notice as the fairest delineation 
which the city possesses of its favourite saintly 
sisters. St. John Baptist in the Desert, and St. 
Joseph with the Infant Christ are noble studies, 
taken from majestic models in the prime of manly 
vigour. In the Nativity, so highly extolled both 
by Ponz and Ccan Bermudez, the Virgin, with 
her sweet face illuminated by light streaming, in 
the manner of Correggio, from the new-born 
Saviour on her lap, is one of Murillo*s loveliest 
Madonnas; around are grouped St. Joseph and 
the shepherds, standing or kneeling, and in the 
dim space above hover two exquisite cherubs. In 
the picture of St. Leander and St. Bonaventure, 
the former holds in his hands the model of a 
church, probably that of his nuns who had given 
place to the Capuchin Fathers. They are two 
rather commonplace priests, but their white 
draperies are grandly disposed ; and a lovely 
infant, bearing a mitre and peeping archly from 
behind the folds of the archbishop*s robe, gives 
relief and a charm to the picture. The St. Francis 
at the foot of the Cross seems to commemorate 
a remarkable passage in the life of that seraphic 


father, when the crucified Redeemer appeared to 
him in his cavern on Mount Alvernus, and sealed 
his palms, his feet, and his sides with the stigmata 
of his own wounds. Fastened by one hand to the 
cross, the Saviour, leaning, places the other on the 
shoulder of the holy man, who supports him in 
his arms, and looks up into his face with ecstasy. 
The foot of the saint rests on a globe, probably 
to signify that he contemned the world and its 
snares, and two pretty celestial choristers flutter 
overhead, holding open a music-book. There are 
two fine pictures of St. Anthony with the Infant 
Jesus, in one of which the Divine visitor stands, 
and in the other sits, on the open folio which the 
kneeling recluse appears to have been perusing. 
A similar picture represents the Blessed Virgin 
revealing herself to St. Felix of Cantalisi, an Italian 
Capuchin of singular holiness and austerity in the 
sixteenth century ; an event which, we arc informed 
by the legend, took place only a few hours before 
his death. Having embraced the Infant Saviour, 
the good friar upon his knees is replacing him in 
the maternal arms, well pleased and ready to 
depart in peace. 

" The Charity of St. Thomas of Villanueva ** 
is, however, the pearl of the collection, being 
more important than any of the others as a 
composition and more interesting in subject. 
Murillo himself esteemed it above all his works, 
and was wont to call it, says Palomino, "su 


licnzo," * his own picture. The good Archbishop of 
Valencia was one of the saints who found especial 
favour with his pencil. A picture, formerly at 
Senile and probably in the Augustine convent, 
representing him as a boy dividing his clothes 
amongst some poor children, is in the collection 
of Lord Ashburton. Amongst the best works of 
Murillo at the Louvre is the picture of the same 
worthy in sacerdotal vestments distributing alms 
at a church door;* and Mr. Wells has another 
excellent work similar in subject, although some- 
what different in treatment, once in a Capuchin 
convent at Genoa. But for his friends, the 
Capuchins of Seville, Murillo put forth all his 
powers, and produced his most elaborate and 
most successful composition on his favourite 
theme. Robed in black and wearing a white 
mitre, St. Thomas the Almoner stands at- the 
door of his Cathedral relieving the wants of a 
lame half-naked beggar who kneels at his feet. 
His pale venerable countenance, expressive of 
severities inflicted upon himself and of habitual 
kindness and goodwill to all mankind, is not in- 
ferior in intellectual dignity and beauty to that 
of St. Leander in the Cathedral ; it is a face that 
at once inspires love and confidence, and befits 
the office of a shepherd and bishop of souls. A 
group of expectant poor surround the holy pre- 
late ; and in the foreground a lively little ragged 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 624. • No. 1717* 



urchin gleefully exhibits to his mother the mara- 
vedis which has fallen to his share. 

The two pictures which represent the Mystery 
of the Immaculate Conception^ are of unequal 
merit. In the best of the two the Blessed Mary 
is portrayed in the bloom of girlhood, with long 
fair hair and blue up-gazing eyes, and standing 
on a throne of clouds upheld by a group of spor- 
tive cherubs, each of them a model of infantine 
loveliness. The other is similar in design, with 
the addition of the Eternal Father, who is dimly 
seen in the clouds above, and the Evil One, who 
grovels beneath the feet of the Virgin in the 
likeness of an ill-favoured dragon. 

The small picture which once adorned the 
tabernacle of the Capuchin high altar is interest- 
ing on account of its legend, as well as of its 
extraordinary merits as a work of art. Repre- 
senting the Virgin and the infant Saviour, it is 
popularly known in Spain as La Virgen de la Ser^ 
ville/aj the Virgin of the Napkin, and the size of 
the small square canvas lends some credulity to 
the story on which the name is founded. Murillo, 
whilst employed at the convent, had formed a 
friendship, it is said, with a lay brother, the cook 
of the fraternity, who attended to his wants and 
waited upon him with peculiar assiduity. At 
the conclusion of his labours, this Capuchin of 
the kitchen begged for some trifling memorial 

* Nos. 1708, 1709. 


of his pencil. The painter was willing to comply, 
but he had exhausted his stock of canvas. '^ Never 
mind," said the ready cook, ** take this napkin," 
offering him that which he had used at dinner. 
The good-natured artist accordingly went to work, 
and before evening he had converted the piece 
of coarse linen into a picture, compared to which 
cloth of gold or the finest tissue of the East would 
be accounted as " filthy dowlas.** The Virgin has 
a face in which thought is happily blended with 
maidenly innocence ; and the Divine Infant, with 
its deep earnest eyes, leans forward in her arms, 
struggling, as it were, almost out of the frame, 
as if to welcome the saintly carpenter home from 
his daily toil. The picture is coloured with a 
brilliancy which Murillo never excelled ; it glows 
with a golden light, as if the sun were always 
shining on the canvas. 

The picture of the Guardian Angel is now in 
the Cathedral at Seville. Presented by the Capu- 
chin friars to the Chapter in 1814, it was placed, 
in 1 81 8, over the altar of the small chapel which 
bears its name. To each man, says Dr. Alonso 
Cano, one angel, at least, is given as a protector, 
although, as it was revealed to Sta. Brigida, ten 
might be allowed, so far do the heavenly hosts 
outnumber the sons of Adam. This doctrine 
has been beautifully illustrated by Murillo. The 
angel, in a rich yellow robe and purple mantle, 
points with his right hand to heaven, and with 


the other leads a lovely child, the emblem of the 
soul passing through the pilgrimage of this world. 
Never was an allegory more sweetly told than in 
this picture, which is painted with great lightness 
of touch. The transparent texture of the child*s 
garment deserves remark, for diaphanous draperies, 
although as old as the days of Polygnotus, and 
much affected by the early Italian and German 
painters, are seldom to be found in pictures of 
Spain. The engraving executed for the present 
work is the first attempt that has yet been made 
to make one of the gems of the Cathedral known 
beyond the walls of Seville. 

Palomino has a story ^ that, about the year 
1670, a picture of the Virgin of the Conception 
by Murillo, being exhibited on the Feast of Cor- 
pus Christi at Madrid, was received with tran- 
sports of applause by the public of that ** most 
ancient, noble, and crowned " capital. King 
Charles II having seen it, expressed a desire that 
the author should enter his service, a desire which 
was forthwith communicated to Murillo by his 
friend Don Francisco Eminente. The painter in 
reply expressed his high sense of his Majesty's 
favour, but excused himself from accepting the 
offered employment on the plea of old age. 
Eminente then commissioned him to paint a 
picture that he might present it to the King ; but 
the artist requiring more time than was agreeable 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 626. 


to the impatience of the courtier, the latter pur- 
chased one of his finished works from Don Juan 
Antonio del Castillo as an offering to the royal 
gallery. The price of that picture was 25CXD 
reals, the subject " St. John in the Desert.** Per- 
haps this may be the pleasing representation of the 
boy Baptist now in the royal museum at Madrid. 
Palomino hints a doubt of the truth of this story, 
on the ground that the King was but nine years 
old in 1670, when he was supposed to have given 
this proof of his taste for art. But he declares 
that it was always said in his own days that Murillo 
had refused an invitation to Court on the score 
of old age ; a refusal which, however, was generally 
ascribed to his modesty and love of retirement. 
Perhaps the invitation may have been given by 
the Queen-Mother, or by Don Juan of Austria 
in his love of art, a true son of Philip IV ; or it 
may have come at a later period from Charles him- 
self, when the prince was old enough to appreciate 
the painter and the painter to plead old age to the 

In 1678 Murillo was again employed by his 
friend, the Canon Justino Neve. That church- 
man having taken a leading part in building a 
new hospital for superannuated priests, known as 
the Hospital de los Venerables, wisely determined 
to entrust three of the pictures required for deco- 
ration to the pencil which had so gracefully em- 
bodied the legend of Sta. Maria la Blanca in the 


church of that name. Two were placed in the 
chapel of the hospital ; and they represented, the 
one, the Mystery of the Immaculate Conception, 
which for beauty of colouring Cean Bermudez 
preferred to all Murillo's pictures on that subject 
at Seville ; and the other, St. Peter Weeping, in 
which Ribera was imitated and excelled. The 
third adorned the refectory, and presented to the 
gaze of the Venerables during their repasts the 
Blessed Virgin enthroned on clouds, with her 
Divine Babe, who, from a basket borne by angels, 
bestowed bread on three aged priests. This de- 
lightful picture was doubtless carried off in the 
baggage-waggons by Soult. In the museum of 
Cadiz may be seen an indifferent copy, which is 
sufficient to give some idea of the graces of the 
original, and to show that the fine wheaten loaves 
of Seville and Alcala have not undergone any 
change in shape since the days of Murillo. 

As a token of gratitude and esteem, Murillo 
about the same time painted a full-length portrait 
of his friend Neve, which long hung in the same 
refectory to remind the Venerables of their bene- 
factor. After various changes of place and owner- 
ship, it is now the property of Lord Lansdowne, 
and a worthy ornament of the drawing-room at 
Bowood. The clear, olive face of Don Justino is 
delicate and pleasing, and bespeaks the gentleman 
and the scholar; his eyes are dark and full of 
intelligence, and his chin and lip are clothed with 



a small beard and slight moustachios. As old 
Alonso de Herrera, the St. Leander of the 
cathedral, is a model of the holy and somewhat 
superannuated prelate, so is Neve a model of the 
decorous, benevolent, and active priest in the full 
vigour of life. He is seated on a red velvet chair, 
and wears a black cassock; on his breast hangs 
a gold medal, and in his hand there is a small 
breviary, between the gilt leaves of which he has 
inserted a finger, by way of mark. Near him is 
a table on which stands a small timepiece. His 
armorial bearings are sculptured on the side of 
the stone portal behind him, and at his feet 
reposes a little liver and white spaniel with a 
scarlet collar, of that sleek, rotund form which 
befits the pet of a prebendary. The whole picture 
is finished with perfect clearness and care, Murillo 
having evidently put forth all his skill in por- 
traying his well-looking friend and patron. The 
dc^ is so true to canine nature that, according to 
Palomino, living dogs have been known to snarl 
and bark as they approached it.^ 

About the same time, Pedro de Medina, being 
engaged in repairing and regilding the high altar 
of the conventual church of the Augustines, 
induced those friars to adorn it with pictures 
by his friend Murillo. These were chiefly taken 
from the life of the glorious doctor, their tutelar 
saint, and two of them are now in the museum of 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 625. 


Seville. In one the Virgin and Infant Saviour 
appear to the bishop of Hippo, and in the other 
he is represented sitting alone writing. Another 
of the series seems to have got into the Louvre. 
It is founded on the story that the good prelate, 
walking on the sea-shore, came upon a child who 
was endeavouring to fill a hole in the sand with 
water which he brought in a shell from the sea. 
To the bishop's inquiry as to what he wanted to 
do, the child replied that he intended to remove 
into that hole all the water of the ocean. " It is 
impossible,*' said the divine. " Not more impos- 
sible," said the little one, ** than for you to explain 
the mystery of the Holy Trinity upon which you 
are at this moment meditating." This picture is 
not one of Murillo's most successful works ; there 
is much dignity and good painting in the head of 
Augustine, but the figure is too short. Besides 
these passages from the life of the glorious doctor, 
the convent possessed, as specimens of the skill of 
Murillo, two alms-giving scenes, already noticed, 
from the history of his favourite St. Thomas of 

The last work undertaken by Murillo was a 
large picture of the espousals of St. Catherine, as 
an altar-piece for the church of the Capuchin 
friars at Cadiz. For this and four smaller paint- 
ings to fill up the retablo, the price stipulated 
between the friars and the artist was 900 crowns. 
He commenced the St. Catherine, and nearly 


finished the figures of the Virgin, the Infant 
Saviour, and the lovely mystical bride. Mounting 
a scaflFolding one day to proceed with the higher 
parts of the picture, he stumbled so violently as 
to cause a rupture in the intestines ; an injury 
which his modesty, says Palomino,* would not 
permit him to reveal, and of which he never 
recovered. The fatal picture, with its glory and 
hovering angels added by Meneses Osorio, and its 
principal group remaining as it was left by the 
master-hand, may still be seen over the high-altar 
in the chapel of the Capuchin convent, now an 
hospital, at Cadiz. There, too, according to 
tradition, the accident befcl Murillo, and thence 
he returned to Seville to die. 

Finding himself grown worse, the great painter 
sent for his notary, Juan Antonio Guerrero, and 
with his assistance drew up his will ; but the last 
sands of life fled so rapidly that he was unable to 
reply to the lawyer's formal question as to the 
existence of any previous testament, or even to 
sign that which had just been made. At six 
o'clock on the evening of the same day, the 
3rd of April 1682, he expired in the presence 
of his second son Gaspar Estevan Murillo, then 
a boy, and in the arms of his tried friend Don 
Justino Neve, and his scholar Pedro Nunez de 

Over an altar in the church of Santa Cruz, 

^ Palomino, vol. iii. p. 626. 


Murillo's parish church, hung the famous picture 
of the *' Descent from the Cross," by the old 
Flemish master Pedro Campana. This picture he 
had always held in high admiration, and before it 
he was wont to perform his devotions. As he 
lingered day after day to gaze upon it, he would 
reply to the questions of the sacristan or others, 
*' I am waiting till those men have brought the 
body of our Blessed Lord down the ladder." 
Beneath this favourite picture and in its chapel, 
in fulfilment of his own wish, his body was laid 
the day after his decease. His funeral was cele- 
brated with great pomp, the bier being borne, says 
Joachim Sandrart, by two marquesses and four 
knights, and attended by a great concourse of 
people of all ranks, who admired and esteemed 
the great painter. By his own desire, his grave 
was covered with a stone slab, on which was 
carved his name, a skeleton, and these two 
words : — 


In the vandal reign of Soult at Seville the 
French pillaged this church and pulled it down, 
as they had before razed the church of San Juan 
at Madrid, which covered the ashes of Velasquez. 
Its site is now occupied by a weed-covered mound 
of rubbish. 





Francisco Goya y Lucientes was born at 
Fuente de Todos, in Aragon, in 1746, and at 
the age of thirteen began to study painting under 
Luxan Martinez at Zaragoza. He then passed 
many years in Rome, and finally returned to Spain 
a painter of greater genius and of a more national 
spirit than his century had yet produced. Fixing 
his abode at Madrid, he soon attracted the notice 
of Mengs by some designs which he executed for 
the royal manufactory of tapestry, and became a 
popular artist of that capital and a prime favourite 
with its fashionable society. Elected in 1780 a 
member of the Academy of San Fernando, he was 
made one of its directors in 1795. ^^^ Prince of 
Asturias honoured him with his notice, and when 
he succeeded to the throne as Charles IV ap- 
pointed him in 1789 his painter-in-ordinary. The 
consort of that sovereign, the notorious Maria 
Louisa, a Bourbon princess of Parma, admitted 
him to her circle, and thus enabled his keen eye 
to observe the younger Godoy*s rapid ascent of 
the political ladder and his long possession of its 

topmost round, as well as her Majesty's episodes 


GOYA 263 

of affection for various ephemeral adventurers like 
Urquijo and Mallo. He was also the intimate 
friend of the Duchess of Alba, celebrated for her 
beauty and intrigues, and for having given one 
of the masterpieces of Raphael which gemmed the 
hereditary gallery as a fee to the family physician, 
who had cured her in a dangerous illness, and 
who was afterwards suspected of poisoning her. 
These distinctions threw open to him the doors 
of the other great houses, the Beneventes and 
Santiagos, the Villamayors and Arandas, as the 
doors of their earlier lord and ladies had been 
open to Velasquez. His pencil also was so largely 
employed that he was able to maintain a fine villa 
near Madrid, where he gave parties and carried 
on the business of his studio. When the crown 
descended to the unworthy head of Ferdinand VII 
he was continued in his post of painter-in-ordinary, 
but leave was given him to retire to Bordeaux, 
where his declining years were spent and where 
he died in 1828. 

Had Goya painted all the subjects which he 
treated as happily as those in which his chief 
strength lay, he would have been one of the first 
artists of his age. Though chiefly employed to 
decorate the houses of nobles and laymen, he did 
not decline the patronage of the Church. At 
Toledo one of the chapter rooms has a picture by 
him representing the Betrayal of our Lord, a 
subject with which his love of gloom and horror 


peculiarly fitted him to deal, and in which he 
has accordingly produced a work of considerable 
merit. He painted likewise a series of frescoes in 
the Church of San Antonio de la Florida, famous 
for its festival worship, about half a league distant 
from Madrid, and others at Valladolid, in the 
modern Church of Sta. Ana, and at Zaragoza on 
one of the domes of the Cathedral of Our Lady 
of the Pillar. But the exposition of sacred or 
legendary history was evidently a business for 
which he had no vocation, and therefore his 
religious pictures must not be taken as the 
measure of his powers. They are in general 
either commonplace or even feeble, or they are 
coarse and revolting. Of the former kind are his 
scenes from the life of St. Francis Boi^ia in the 
Cathedral of Valencia, although one of them 
represents an occurrence likely to have arrested 
his imagination — the soul of a dying sinner seized 
in its flight from the body by three hideous 
demons, who are discovered by a supernatural 
light flashing from the crucifix of the ministering 
Jesuit. An example of his more forcible, but 
perhaps more disagreeable, manner may be found 
in his Sta. Justa and Sta. Rufina in the sacristy of 
the Cathedral of Seville, a picture in which, so 
far from seeking to catch the poetical aspect of 
his subject, he has contented himself with mere- 
triciously portraying in the virgin martyrs the 
not very refined courtesans who served him as 

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GOYA 265 

models. But some of his avowed portraits are 
works of great merit, as, for instance, those of 
Charles IV and his Queen in the Royal Gallery at 
Madrid. The poor imbecile King, in the blue 
uniform and cocked hat of a colonel of the 
guards and mounted on a sober brown charger, 
is an example of the dignity which may be con- 
ferred by a skilful hand on the most ordinary 
features and expression without sacrificing the 
resemblance. It \s worthy of note that her 
Majesty, likewise attired in uniform and mounted 
on a brown horse, bestrides her saddle like a 
dragoon of the usual sex, and wears the portion 
of male attire which, in private life, a lady is 
figuratively said to assume with the reins of 
domestic government. Her vulgar face, red as 
with rouge or rum and surmounted by a round 
beaver hat, justified and explains the severity of 
Godoy's audacious jest in talking of her to her 
own r.oyal spouse, before the conscious Court, as 
**an ugly old woman whose name he had for- 
gotten." The National Museum at Madrid has 
a fine specimen of Goya in a picture of two dark- 
eyed dames, with their fans and mantillas, enjoy- 
ing the air and public admiration at a balcony; 
and the Louvre has a good full-length portrait of 
the famous Duchess of Alba, attired in a bUck- 
lace national dress of Andalusia, from whence we 
learn that the rouge of Castilian high life long 
survived the ridicule of Madame d*Aulnoy. 


As a satirist with the pencil Goya stands un- 
rivalled in Spain, of which he may be called the 
Hogarth- No lover of the Church, though he 
sometimes furnished a picture to her shrines, he 
assailed her weak points with a truthful force of 
humour which would have appalled Pacheco and 
Palomino, and would have aroused within their 
orthodox bosoms all the Familiars of the Holy 
Office. The Autos-da-fe of times past, or the 
processional pageants of his own days, he parodied 
without mercy, forcing men to laugh, even in 
spite of pious scruples, by his delineations of 
solemn ecclesiastics, mumming it in all their 
glory, in the forms of asses or apes. For the 
monks and friars, white, black, and grey, he had 
an especial and not unmerited contempt and 
aversion ; and he was never weary of caricaturing 
the luxurious indolence of the Jeronymite in his 
stately cloisters and the ignorance and sensual in- 
dulgence of the filthy mendicant Franciscan. Of 
these last sallies a few may be seen in the Louvre 
and many more adorn the gallery of the Duke of 
Ossuna and other private collections at Madrid. 

I possess four of his hasty sketches of chil- 
dren at play, in which are introduced some small 
urchins equipped as miniature friars, and pum- 
melling one another with all the ardour of Domi- 
nicans and Gipuchins bickering about the doctrine 
of the Immaculate Conception or the right of 
vending of Indulgences. 

GOYA 267 

In his sacred pictures and in a few of his 
portraits Goya somewhat affects that hard, sculp- 
tural style in which David and his French fol- 
lowers painted their wearisome delineations of 
Greek and Roman story. Thus has he treated 
St. Francis Borgia at Valencia and the virgin 
guardians of Seville. But it was otherwise in 
those more congenial works in which his hand 
spoke as his fancy prompted, and in which he 
poured forth the gaiety of his wit or the gall 
of his sarcasm. There the dashing boldness of 
the execution rivals the coarseness of the idea 
or the rudeness of the jest. Herrera the elder 
himself never wrought with rougher and stranger 
materials. His colours were laid on as often 
with sticks, sponges, or dish-cloths as with the 
brush, and this, when he deigned to use it, was 
always of the coarsest texture. "Smearing his 
canvas with paint," says a French writer, " as a 
mason plasters a wall, he would add the delicate 
touches of sentiment with a dash of his thumb." 
Sometimes he would execute an entire piece with 
his palette-knife, and the surface of his pictures 
in general affords evidence that he frequently had 
recourse to that implement. So dexterous was 
he in turning all materials to artistic account that, 
during morning visits to his friends, he would take 
the sandbox from the inkstand, and, strewing the 
contents on the table, amuse them with caricatures 
traced in an instant by his ready finger. The 


great subject, repeated with ever new variations 
in these sand-sketches, was Godoy, to whom he 
cherished an especial antipathy, and whose face 
he was never weary of depicting with every ludi- 
crous exaggeration of its peculiarities that quick 
wit and ill-will could supply. 

Being highly skilled in the use of the graver, 
as well as of those strange implements that served 
him instead of the pencil, he published a series of 
eighty illustrations of Spanish life and proverbial 
philosophy, which he called Caprichos^ ** whims,'* 
and which attained great celebrity. Mercenary 
matrimony, avarice, love affairs carried on at 
church, the process of plucking a goose as prac- 
tised by the amancebadas of Madrid, law, physic, 
the pulpit, the cloister, the people and its leaders 
and law-givers, are amongst a few of the subjects 
touched, now with bitter satire, now with ghastly 
humour, in this curious collection of clever etch- 
ings. Here is a group of his friends the friars, 
represented as duendecitoSy ** little fairies," by 
which, doubtless, are meant ** lubber-fiends," not 
of the family of Milton's ** drudging goblin," but 
of a breed who drained the cream-bowl without 
threshing the corn, and lived a jovial life, in virtue 
of the standing miracle of St. Francis, the patron 
of tonsured vagabonds. Goya has a strong taste 
for the grotesque, and as an inventor of horrible 
monsters, cloudy shapes suggestive of deeper hor- 
rors, or malicious, frisking devilkins he rivals 

GOYA 26q 

Martin de Vos, the painter of Last Judgments, 
and Teniers, who loved to enmesh St. Anthony 
in the snares of the Evil One. Many of his 
sketches would afford excellent studies for the 
hobgoblins, satyrs, and dragons of the pit that 
terrified Bunyan's pilgrim in the Valley of the 
Shadow of Death ; and his female heads are often 
worthy of the witches in "Macbeth." In spite of 
Goya's position at Court, these Caprichos are sup- 
posed to contain much sharp political satire and 
to embalm much antiquated scandal, which it 
would be hardly worth while, if it were possible, 
to decipher. The Queen, the Messalina of Spain, 
is said to figure in his caustic pages ; the foibles 
of Godoy and his colleagues in the cortejoship are 
here depicted in something more tenacious than 
sand; and due honour is done, in their turns, 
to the Countess of Benevente, ** the most deter- 
mined old hag of the rout-giving, card-playing 
species in Europe," and the chief personages who 
breathed the impure air of that vicious and con- 
temptible Court. The collection opens with a 
profile portrait of the artist himself, whose coarse 
features, enlivened by sly drollery, are here pre- 
sented in a slightly reduced size. 

Goya was likewise author of a series of sketches 
of the French invasion executed in the same style, 
in which he depicts the horrors of war, convents 
sacked, citizens hung, prisoners shot, and women 
ravished with great eflfect indeed, but in so fierce 


a spirit of exaggeration, says a Parisian tourist 
with admirable innocence, that one might sup- 
pose he was recording the events of a Tartar 
foray of the fourteenth century. An artist who 
was at Madrid on the famous Dos de MayOy and 
was an eye-witness of the dragonnadeSy the fusil- 
ladeSy and the mitraillades of Murat, may be ac- 
quitted of exaggeration in delineating the atrocious 
doings of the Gaul. 

He also published thirty-three prints of scenes 
in the bull-ring, being illustrations of the national 
sport of the Peninsula from the days of the Cid 
and Gazul, the " stout Alcayde " of the ancient 
ballads, to the death of Pepe Illo, the most dex- 
terous of matadors, and a writer on the sport to 
which he fell a victim in the arena of Madrid. 
To these he added, during his residence at Bor- 
deaux, and while deaf and nearly blind, some 
lithographic prints, of inferior merit, indeed, but 
not devoid of his ancient fire. Not the least 
valuable of the efforts of his graver are some 
of the earliest, his etchings of the five great 
equestrian portraits, the Borrochas^ the Meninas^ 
and some of the dwarfs and single figures of 
Velasquez, which he executed in 1778. 



These annals of the artists of Spain cannot 
be more fitly closed than with a notice of the 
able and indefatigable historian of Spanish art, 
Juan Agustin Cean Bermudez. He was born in 
1749 at Gijon, a seaport of Asturias, and till 
the age of sixteen received his education at 
the Jesuits' College of the town. His parents 
being townsfolk and friends of the family of 
Jovellanos, he early obtained the notice of the 
patriot statesman of that name. On the appoint- 
ment of that remarkable man, who was five years 
his senior, to a collegiate dignity at Alcala de 
Henares, he accompanied him thither, and prose- 
cuted his studies for two years in that university. 
He afterwards spent a year at Seville, and then 
repaired to Madrid to seek his fortune. When 
Jovellanos was appointed criminal judge of the 
royal court at Seville, he again accompanied his 
friend to the seat of his jurisdiction, and witnessed 
his success in combating the prejudice in favour 
of wigs, and in winning the hearts of the bar and 
the public. It was in the city of Roelas, Hcrrcra, 


and Murillo that he acquired that love of art to 
which he owes his reputation. Devoting himself 
with great ardour to the study of architecture, 
drawing, and anatomy, under Juan de Espinal, 
he took an active part in establishing there, in 
1769, a public academy, which was afterwards 
endowed by Charles III. By the advice of Jocel- 
lanos, whom he appears to have embued with his 
own tastes, he returned to Madrid to place him- 
self in the school of Mengs, and during the few 
months which preceded that master's final return to 
Rome was his diligent and admiring pupil. He 
did not, however, pursue painting as a profession, 
for Jovellanos, exerting his influence in his behalf, 
obtained for him a situation in the bank of San 
Carlos. In this less congenial but more certain 
and profitable calling he continued for some 
years, enjoying the society of his friend and 
patron, for whose house, in the Calle de Juanelo, 
he amused his leisure by making purchases of 

In 1790 he was sent by the Government to 
arrange the papers in the oflice of Indian affairs 
at Seville. This task engaged his attention for 
seven years, but it not only aflforded him oppor- 
tunities for pursuing his favourite studies, but 
also enabled him to display such high talents for 
business that Jovellanos, when made Minister of 
Grace and Justice, promoted him in 1797 ^^ ^^^ 
post of Secretary in that department for the 


affairs of the Indian colonies. This important 
office he held until the exile of Jovellanos, when 
he in some degree shared his disgrace, and was 
sent back to his former labours at Seville. In 
1 800 he completed his first literary undertaking, 
the " Dictionary of the Fine Arts in Spain/* a 
work of great labour and many years. It was 
printed at the expense of the Royal Academy of 
San Fernando, and published, according to one of 
their most important privileges, without having 
been previously submitted to the public censors 
of the press. In 1 804 appeared his accurate and 
lucid descriptions of the Cathedral and the Hos- 
pital de la Sangre at Seville, and two years after- 
wards his "Letter on the Sevillian School of 
Painting,** which contains an enlarged and 
amended account of the life of Murillo. During 
the gloomy years which preceded the War of 
Independence, he pursued his peaceful labours 
in the Indian archives at Seville. Ferdinand VII, 
on ascending the throne in 1808, reinstated him 
in his office in the department of Grace and 
Justice ; and finally, after the complete restoration 
of the Bourbons, he retired from the public 
service with a pension. In 18 14 he gave to the 
world an interesting life of Jovellanos, written 
with affectionate zeal for his friend's memory, 
though with that guarded reserve which his 
position and the jealousy of the government ren- 
dered prudent and necessary. Thirteen years 


later, in 1827, he published a translation of 
Francesco de Milizia*s Italian book entitled ** The 
Art of Seeing Works of Art/' which he had 
meditated thirty years before at Seville, soon 
after the appearance of the second edition of 
the original. His last work was the "Notices 
of the Architects of Spain," an undertaking begun 
and brought down to 1734 by Don Eugenio 
Llaguno. The editor becoming possessed of the 
manuscript at the author's death, furnished a 
continuation to 1825, and enriched it through- 
out with so many notes that he may justly claim 
the lion's share of the credit due to a very valu- 
able contribution to the history of art. His 
literary labours were interrupted in September 
1827 by a stroke of apoplexy, and he died on 
the 3rd of December 1829. Besides his published 
writings he left behind him in manuscript an 
excellent summary of the Roman antiquities of 
Spain, which were given to the world in 1832, 
a general history of painting, a catalogue of his 
curious collection of engravings, a discourse on 
the name, nature, and reign of Churrigueresque 
architecture, and a number of essays on artistic 

His admirable " Dictionary of the Professors of 
the Fine Arts in Spain" is a model work of its class, 
and is superior to any book of the same kind within 
the compass of European literature. "In plain 
execution and language," says a Spanish critic, **it 


evinces the most careful polish, and that minute 
and laborious observation which a work of this 
kind requires." The notice of each artist is 
followed by a catalogue of his works, existing 
when the author wrote, and ranged under the 
names of the churches or the convents where 
they were to be found. While facility of re- 
ference is secured by the adoption of the alpha- 
betical order, the advantages of other possible 
arrangements of the matter are gained by chrono- 
logical and topographical tables of the artists and 
their works. The diligent author has found his 
materials not only in the published writings of 
his predecessors, but in cathedral archives, con- 
ventual records, and parish registers, in the 
manuscript journals and notes of defunct artists, 
and in many a hole and corner where little could 
be expected to reward his unwearied researches. 
The Letter on the Sevillian School of Painting, 
with its life of Murillo, the descriptions of the 
Cathedral and Hospital de la Sangre at Seville, 
may be considered as postscripts to the "Dic- 
tionary," and ought always to be found on the 
same shelf with that work. His style is clear 
and simple, sensible and concise. Although a 
countryman of Pacheco and Palomino, he was 
addicted neither to drown a commonplace idea 
in a flood of words, nor to discover the bird of 
Apollo in every meaner fowl of a similar shape 
that cackled in Castile. His one defect, venial 


in itself and, considering the age in which he 
lived, perhaps unavoidable, is that he entertains 
an undue respect for the artists of his own time 
and their immediate predecessors, the pompous 
and unprofitable academicians of St. Ferdinand, 
He docs not assert, nor does he hint, that Velas- 
quez painted better portraits or histories than 
Titian, or that the landscapes of Iriarte excel the 
landscapes of Claude. But he would lead his 
readers to suppose, what is hardly less false, that 
Castro was as good a sculptor as Martinez Mon- 
tafies, and that Bayeu could have held his ground 
with Pereda or Carreno, or any of the leading 
Castilian painters of the second order in the 
seventeenth century. This slight blemish, how- 
ever, while it argues a generous feeling towards 
his contemporaries, is confined to his notices of 
a race of artists so little important in themselves 
that it hardly deserves observation. 

If his labours were brought to maturity just in 
time to stimulate and guide the rapacity of Soult 
and Sebastiani, and their brother speculators in 
pictures, his book is invaluable as an authentic 
record, enabling the historian at once to track 
the course of their rapine, and to ascertain the 
value of their plunder. The ignorance of these 
men being equal to their avarice, but for this 
timely " Dictionary ** the history of their acquisi- 
tions would have been utterly lost, and the 
affiliation of Spanish pictures on this side the 


Pyrenees would have been even more erroneous 
and arbitrary than it now is. They have pro- 
bably realised a large pecuniary profit out of the 
increased value accruing to their stolen wares 
from the notice of Cean Bermudez, but it is 
gained by means which also perpetuate the best 
evidence of their infamy. After the War of 
Independence, and still more after the dissolution 
of the convents, the work, in its present complete 
form, would have been impossible. On the 
whole, then, it may be considered that Cean 
Bermudez, like most of the good workmen of 
the world, appeared to fulfil his appointed task 
at the very time when the interest of art and 
literature especially demanded its performance. 
The labours of many writers in that remarkable 
age were better calculated to captivate the ima- 
gination, were, perhaps, directed to nobler ends, 
were certainly graced with richer rewards; but 
few demanded more industry and zeal, and none 
were more ably and faithfully accomplished. 





Arroyo del 






(1509?-! 586). 

S. Benito, S. Miguel, S. John, The Pentecost, 
An Apostle reading, The Transfiguration. 

Parish Church, Annunciation, Nativity, 
Adoration of Magi, Circumcision, Christ at 
the Pillar, Christ Mocked, Agony in the 
Garden, Bearing the Cross, Descent from 
the Cross, Entombment, Christ and Joseph 
of Arimathea, Christ in Hades, Ascension, 
Pentecost, S. John, S. Jerome. 

Cathedral, Crucifixion. 

CONCEPCION, Christ with Cross, Virgin and 
Child (1546), injured. 

Parish Church, Six scenes of the Passion. 

Prado Gallery, 847. Ecce Homo. 

848. Virgin of Sorrows. 

849. Circumcision. 

850. Virgin and Infant Jesus. 

851. Saviour (head, life-size). 
217. Christ with Two Thieves. 
MusEO San Fernando, Pietk. 

S. IsiDORO EL Real, Christ at the Column. 
Colegiata, Sacristy, Christ. 
Cathedral, Virgin with Infant Christ and 
S. Giovanino. 











Cathedral, Sacristy of the Chalices, Trip- 
tych with Ecce Homo. 
S. Maria la Blanca, Dead Christ. 
Palazzo de S. Telmo, Piet^ 
Museum, Christ, Virgin of Solitude. 
CoLEGio DE Corpus, Christ bearing the Cross. 
St. Catherine, Crucifixion. 

National Gallery, 1299. Virgin and Child. 
National Gallery, S. Jerome in the Wilderness. 
Louvre, 1707. Christ bearing the Cross. 
Museum, Ecce Homo. 





Prado, 1032. Portrait of Don Carlos. 

1033. I'ortrait of Infanta Isabel. 

1034. Isabel and Clara, daughters of Philip II. 

1035. Portrait of Princess Catherine Michaela. 

1036. Portrait of Queen Ann of Austria. 

1037. Portrait of a Princess of Austrian House. 

1038. Portrait of a Lady. 

1039. Portrait of a Knight of S. Jago (? Antonio 

1041. Marriage of S. Catherine (1578). 

S. GlORGO, Pietk. 

Museum Belvedere, Portrait of a Lady. 


(1 526-1 579). 

Escorial. Adoration of Shepherds. 
S. Jerome. 

Christ appearing to the Virgin. 
Claustro Principal, Martyrdom of S. Jago. 
Salas Capitulares, S. Peter, S. Andrew. 
CORO Alto, Eight Studies of Saints. 


Madrid. Prado, 905. Baptism ofChrist, with four Angels. 

007' S Peter f Studies for pictures at Escorial. 




Martyrdom of S. Maurice. 

Dream of Philip II. 

Prado, 238. Portrait of a Man. 

240. Portrait of a Doctor. 

241. Portrait of Rodrigo Vazquez. 

242. Portrait of a Man. 

243. Portrait of a Man. 

244. Portrait of a Man. 

245. Portrait of a Man. 

246. Portrait of a Man. 

239. The Dead Christ in the arms of the Eternal. 
The Crucifixion. 
The Annunciation. 
The Holy Family. 
The Baptism of Christ. 

247. S. Paul. 

MUSEO, Portrait of Himself. 

Cathedral, Sacristy of the Chalices, 

Palazzo S. Telmo, The Death of Laocoon. 
Museo, View of Toledo. 

Portrait of Covurrubias. 
Portrait of Juan Alava. 
Cathedral, Mocking of Jesus. 
Cathedral, Sacristy, S. John Evangelist 
S. Tom£, Burial of Count Orgaz. 
S. Jos^ S. Martin and the Beggar. 
Virgin and Child, with Saints. 
Holy Family. 
S. Francis. 

S. Vicente, Assumption. 
S. Domingo el Antiguo, Assumption (replica). 
S. Paul, S. John Baptist, S. Benedict, S. Bernard 









St. Pcters" 

Hospital de Afusra, Portrait of Cardinal 

S. John Baptist. 
Caridad, Altarpiece S. Ildefonso. 

Paintings of Life of S. Mary Magdalen. 

National Gallery, 1122. A Cardinal. 
1457. Christ and the Money-changers. 
Louvre, 1730. S. Francis. ? 
King Ferdinand of Aragon. 
Museum, Portrait of a Man. 
Hermitage, Portrait 

A very full list of Greco's works is given by 
Sr. Cossio in his book on £1 Greco. 



Cathedral, Portrait of Bishop Sandoval. 
Convent of La Silva (Jeronomyte), Last 

Six Scenes Life of Our Lord and Eight Saints. . 



(ca. 1 558-1625). 

Prado^ 102 i. Moses striking the Rock. 

Collegiate Church, Adoration of Magi. 

Nativity (injured), \ 

Annunciation, I ^^ 

Marriage of Virgin, / 

Death of S. Joseph, j 

Museum, The Martyrdom of S. Andrew. 

S. Anna teaching the Virgin to read. 

Cathedral, Chapel of Santiago, Santiago 

destroying the Moors in the battle of 

Clavijo (1609). 
University Church, Adoration of the Magi. 
Holy Family. 
Presentation in the Temple. 


S. Pedro, S. Peter freed from Prison. 

S. ISIDORO, Death of S. Isidoro. 

Liberation of S. Peter. 

Hospital de la Sangre, Apotheosis of S. 

Saalucar de S. Francisco, Baptist. 
Bamuneda. S. Lawrence. 

Dead Christ and Angels. 


Martyrdom of S. Catherine. 

S« Agnes and Six other Saints. 





(ca> 1 576-1656). 

ACADEMIA, Two Studies : S. Peter, S. Paul. 

Museum, Vision of S. Basil. 

Triumph of S. Hermengild. 

Four Studies of Saints. 

Cathedral, S. Peter Penitent. 

S. Bernardo, Last Judgment. 

S. Buenaventura, Frescoes. 

Convent of Mercy, Frescoes. 

University, S. Ignatius. 

Coll. Lopez Cepero, Pentecost (1617). 

Archiepiscopal Palace, Israelites gathering 

Moses Striking Rock. 
Marriage in Cana. 
Miracle of Loaves. 

Louvre, 1706. S. Basil dictating his Doctrine. 
Gallery, S. Matthew (bust). 
Coll. Count Czernin, Blind Musician. 




Parish Church, S. Sebastian tended by Irene. 

Museum, The Return of Captives rescued by 

S. Ram6n. £. 




Prado, 916. S. Agnes. 

917. S. Catherine. 

918. S. John Evangelist. 

919. S. John Baptist 

Museum, S. Pedro Nelasco redeeming Captives. 

S. Pedro Nelasco redeeming Captives. 

Virgin appearing to S. Ram6n Nonnatus. £. 

Embarkation of S. Ram6n. E. 

Several Studies of Saints. 

University Church, Annunciation. 

Coll. Don Lopez Cepero, Four Portraits, 
predella pieces to the Death of S. Albert 

S. Hermengild, Full-length Portrait of S. 

Convent of S. Isabel, Baptism of our Lord. 

Banquet served by Angels. 

Last Judgment 

Cartuja de S. Maria de la Cuevas, S. John 

Franciscan Convent of Cartellaja de la 
CUESTA (near Seville), Our Lady of Expecta- 

Christ at the Column. 

Portraits, 150 in all, especially of hisL wife. 


( 1 599-1660). 

Joseph's Coat 

Prado, 1054. Adoration of Magi. E. 

1055. Crucifixion. 

1056. Coronation of Virgin. L. 

1057. S. Antony Abbot visiting S. Paul. 

1058. Meeting of Tipplers. E. 

1059. Forge of Vulcan. 

1060. Surrender of Breda. 

1061. Las Hilanderas. 

1062. Las Meninas. L. 

1063. Mercury and Argus. 

1064. Equestrian Portrait of Philip III. 



1065. Equestrian Portrait of Queen Margarita. 

1066. Equestrian Portrait of Philip IV. 

1067. Equestrian Portrait of Queen Isabel. 

1068. Equestrian Portrait of Don Balthazar 

1069. Equestrian Portrait of Duke of Olivarez. 

1070. Portrait of Infente Don Carlos. 

1071. Portrait of Philip IV. E. 

1072. Portrait of Infantes of Spain. 

1073. Portrait of Infante Don Carlos. 

1074. Portrait of Philip IV in hunting costume. 

1075. Portrait of Don Fernando of Austria. 

1076. Portrait of Don Balthazar Carlos. 

1077. Portrait of Philip IV (old). L. 

1078. Portrait of Dona Maria of Austria. L. 

1079. Portrait of Dona Mariana of Austria. 
io8a Portrait of Philip IV (old). L. 

108 1. Portrait of Philip IV in prayer. L. 

1082. Dona Mariana of Austria in prayer. L. 

1083. Portrait of Don Balthazar Carlos. 

1084. Portrait of Infanta Maria Teresa of Austria. 

1085. Portrait of Don Luis de Gongora. E. 

1086. Portrait of Juana Pacheco, his wife. E. 

1087. Portrait of a Girl Infant. 

1088. Portrait of an Infant Girl. 

1089. Portrait of an Elderiy Lady ? 

1090. Portrait of Don Antonia Alonso Pimentel. 

1091. Portrait of the sculptor Montanes. L. 

1092. Portrait of a Buffoon. L. 

1093. Portrait of Pemia, Buffoon. L. 

1094. Portrait of a Juggler. L. 

1095. Portrait of a Dwarf, El Pinno. 

1096. Portrait of a Dwarf. 

1097. Portrait of a Dwarf. L. 

1098. El Nino de Vallecas. 

1099. El Bobo de Coria. 

1 100. iCsop. L. 
iioi. Menipus. L. 

1 102. Mars. L. 

1 103. Portrait of a Man. £. 

1 104. Portrait of a Man. 

1 105. Portrait of Alonso Martinez de Espinar. 


I io6. View in Garden of Villa Medici, Rome. 

1 107. View in Garden of Villa Medici, Rome. 

1 108. View of Arch of Titus, Rome. 

1 109. View of Garden of Aianjuez. 

1 1 10. View of Calle de la Reina in Aranjuez. 

1 1 1 1. View of The Buen Retiro. 

11 12. View of old Alcizar Palace. 

11 13. Landscape. 

1 1 14. Landscape. 

Coll. Avear, The Grape Gatherer. 

Coll. de Beruete, S. Peter. 

Coll. Duke of Medina Celli, a Woman. 

Coll. Duke of Villa Hermosa, Portrait of 

Don Diego del Cerral y Arellano. 
Coll. Duke of Alba, Portrait of Dona Antonia, 

daughter of Don Luis de Hars ; Portrait of 

In&nta Margarita Teresa. 
Seville. Palace of Archbishop, Virgin presenting a 

Chasuble to S. Ildefonso. 
Coll. Dona Maria del Valle Gonzalez, 

Christ and the Disciples of Emmaus. 
Valenda. Museum, Portrait of Himself. 
London. National Gallery, 197. Philip IV of Spain 

232. Adoration of Shepherds. £. 
741. Dead Warrior. 
745. Philip IV (bust). 
1 129. Philip IV (full length). 
1 148. Christ at the Column. 
131 5. Admiral Puledo Pareja. 

1375. Christ in the House of Martha. 

1376. Sketch of the " Duel " in the Prado. 
1434. A Betrothal. 

2057. Venus and Cupid. 

Wallace Collection, 4. Portrait of Don 

Balthazar Carlos. 
6. Don Balthazar Carlos in the Riding School. 
12. Don Balthazar Carlos in infancy. 
70. A Boar Hunt. 
88. The Lady with the Fan. 
C0LL.0F H.M.The King, Buckingham Palace, 

Portrait of Infante Don Balthazar Carlos. 


Pngi^n^, Various Private Collections : 

Coll. of F. M. Alleyne, Portrait of Don 

Giovanni Trivulzi. 
Coll. Duke or Bedford (Woburn Abbey, 

Beds.), Portrait of Don Adrian Puledo 

Portrait of a Man. 
Coll. C. F. A. Brant, Portrait of the Duke of 

Coll. R. Bankes (Kingston Lacy, Wimbome), 

Sketch for Las Meninas. 
Portrait of Cardinal Gasper de Borja. 
Portrait of Philip IV. 
Coll. Lord Berwick, Portrait of a Spanish 

Coll. H. B. Brabazon, Portrait of Mariana of 

Coll. Marquis of Bristol (Ickworth Park), 

Portrait of Don Balthazar Carlos. 
Coll. Charles Butler (London), Portrait of 

Pope Innocent X. 
Coll. Earl of Carlisle (Castle Howard, York), 

Portrait of Don Balthazar Carlos. 
Portrait of Juan de Pareja. 
Portrait of Dona Mariana of Austria. 
Coll. Miss Cohen (Brighton), Portrait of a 

Coll. Sir F. Cook (Richmond), Two Peasants. 
Portrait of Himself. 
Portrait of Dona Mariana of Austria. 
Coll. Duke of Devonshire (London), Portrait 

of a Lady. 
Coll. C. Donaldson, A Chorister. 
Coll. Earl of ELL£SMERE(BridgewaterHouse), 

Portrait of a Natural Son of Olivarez. 
Portrait of Philip IV. 
Portrait of Himself. 

Coll. Earl of Elgin (Fife), Portrait of Olivarez. 
Portrait of Innocent X. 
A Dog with a Bone. 
Coll. Sir W. Farrer, View of the Alameda, 



Coll. Lady Gregory, A Peasant Boy Feeding 

Coll. Lord Heytesbury, A Sketch for "Los 

Coll. Captain Holford, A Field-Marshal in 

Portrait of Philip IV. 
Coll. Holman Hunt, S. Sebastian. 
Coll. Edward Huth, Portrait of Philip IV. 
Portrait of Dona Isabel de Bourbon. 
Portrait of Olivarez. 

Coll. Lord Lansdowne, Portrait of Olivarez. 
Portrait of Innocent X. 
A Child in Bed. 
Portrait of Himself. 
Two Landscapes. 
Coll. Earl of Northbrook (Manchester), 

Portrait of Philip IV. 
Coll. Duke of Northumberland (Alnwick 

Castle), Portrait of Pedro Alcantara. 
Coll. Hon. Mrs. Preston, Portrait of a Lady. 
Coll. Earl of Radnor (Longford Castle), 

Portrait of Juan de Pareja. 
Coll. Duke of Sutherland (Stafford House), 

The Duke of Gandia at a Convent Door. 
S. Carlo Barromeo at a Chapter. 
Landscape with Figures. 
S. Francesco Borgia arriving at the Jesuits' 

Coll. Duke of Wellington, Portrait of 

Innocent X. 
Portrait of Don Francisco de Quevedo. 
Two Boys. 
Portrait of a Man. 
The Water Carrier. 
Coll. Duke of Westminster, Portrait of 

Infante Don Balthazar Carlos. 
Portrait of a Young Man. 
Dublin. National Gallery, Legend of S. Antony. 

Portrait of the Infanta Dona Maria. 
Paris. Louvre, 173 i. Portrait of Infanta Margarita 










1732. Portrait of Philip IV. 

1733. Bust of Philip IV. 

1734. A Meeting (thirteen figures). 
1735* Portrait of Queen Mariana. 

1736. Portrait of a Young Woman. 

1737. Portrait of Don Pedro, Dean of Royal 
Chapel of Toledo. 

Museum, Portrait of a Man. 

Museum, 413A. Portrait of Alessandro del 

413c. Portrait of Dona Anna Maria. 
4 1 3D. A Dwarf. 
41 3E. Portrait of a Woman. 
Gallery, 622. Portrait of Olivarez. 

623. Portrait of a Man. 

624. Portrait of a Man. 

Stadel Gallery, Portrait of Cardinal Borgia. 
Portrait of the Infanta Margarita Teresa. 
Old Pinakothek, 1292. Portrait of Himself. 

1293. Portrait of a Man. 

1294. Portrait of the Infanta Maria Margarita. 
PiTTi Gallery, 198. Portrait of a Man. 
Portrait of Philip IV. 

UffiziiGallbry, 216. Portrait of Himself. 
Palazzo Cataneo, Madonna and Child. 
Brera, a Dead Brother (head). 

Palazzo Ducale, Portrait of Duke of Modena. 

Capitol Gallery, Portrait of Himself. 

Palazzo Doria, Portrait of Innocent X. 

Gallery, Head of Philip IV. 

Head of a Man. 

Gallery, 609. Portrait of Infanta Maria Teresa. 

611. Portrait of Don Felipe Prosper. 

612. Portrait of Philip IV. 

613. Portrait of a Young Man. 

615. Portrait of Infanta Margarita Maria as a 

616. Portrait of Don Balthazar Carlos. 

617. Portrait of Archduchess Maria Anna. 
619. Portrait of Infanta Margarita Teresa. 

621. The Truce. 

622. Portrait of Queen Isabella of Spain. 



The Hague. 

S. Petefs- 

New York. 
Yale Col- 

Museum, Portrait of Infante Don Balthazar 

Museum, Portrait of Don Balthazar Carlos. 
Hermitage, 418. Bust of Innocent X. 

419. Portrait of Philip IV. 

420. Bust of Philip IV of Spain. 

421. Portrait of Olivarez. 

422. Bust of Olivarez. 

424. Portrait of a Spanish Prince. 
Metropolitan Museum, A Fruit Piece. 
Gallery, Portrait of a Man. 


Esoorial. Salas Capitulares, Jacob and his Flocks. 

Holy Trinity. 


S. Jerome. 

Two Portraits. 
Granada. Cathedral, Capil. Trinidad, Trinity between 

SS. Francis and Joseph. 

Cap. Jesus Nazareno, Magdalen, SS. Francis 
and Laurence. 
Madrid. Prado, 955. The Saviour (bust). 

956. S. Peter. 

957. S. Paul. 

958. S. Andrew. 

959. S. Andrew. 

960. S. John Evangelist. 

961. S. Philip. 

962. S. James the Elder. 

963. S. Bartholomew. 

964. S. Thomas. 

965. S. Thomas. 

966. S. Thomas. 

967. S. Matthew. 

968. S. Simon. 

969. S. Simon. 

97a S. Judas Thaddeus. 
971. S. James the Minor. 


972. S. Matthias. 

973. S. Andrew. 

974. S. James the Elder. 

975. S. Peter. 

976. S. Andrew. 

977. S. Bartholomew. 

978. S. Simon. 

979. S. Joseph with Infant Jesus. 

980. S. Mary Magdalen in the Wilderness. 

981. The Magdalen. 

982. Jacob's Ladder. 

983. Jacob receiving the Blessing of Isaac. 

984. Immaculate Conception. 

985. S. Paul the Hermit. 

986. Entombment. 

987. S. Peter Released from Prison. 

988. Women Fighting. 

989. Martyrdom of S. Bartholomew. 

990. Holy Trinity. 

991. Martyrdom of S. Bartholomew. 

992. S. Augustine. 

993. S. Sebastian. 

994. S. Jerome Praying. 

995. S. Jerome in the Desert 

996. S. Jerome Penitent 

997. S. Mary Egyptian. 

998. Ecstasy of S. Francis of Assisi. 

999. S. John Baptist in the Wilderness. 

1000. S. Roch. 
looi. S. Roch. 

1002. S. Christopher. 

1003. The Blind Man of Gambazo. 

1004. Prometheus Chained. 

1005. Ixion. 

1006. A Hermit Praying. 

1007. An Anchorite. 

1008. A Philosopher. 

1009. A Philosopher. 

loio. Archimedes with Compass, 
loii. A SibyL 
1 012. Bacchus. 
Madrid. S. FernandOi S. Mary Magdalen. 











Ecce Homo. 

S. Isabel, Immaculate Conception. 

AUGUSTINAS Recoletas (R. Transept), Vii^n 

and Child, with SS. Dominic and Antony of 

S. Januarius. 

Coll. Don Lopez Cepbro, Madonna and Child. 
Palazzo de S. Telmo, Cato Re-opening his 

Cathedral, S. John Baptist. 
Convent of S. Juan, Holy Family. 
Museum, Martyrdom of S. Sebastian. 
Two Studies of S. Jerome and S. Teresa. 
National Gallery, 235. The Dead Christ 
244. Shepherd with a Lamb. 
Hampton Court, S. John with a Lamb. 
Duns Scotus. 

DULWICH Gallery, A Locksmith. 
Louvre, 1721. Adoration of the Shepherds. 

1722. Christ at the Tomb. 

1723. S. Paul the Hermit. 

1724. Madonna and Child. 

1725. Lc Pied-Bot. 
1725A-1729. Portraits ? 
Museum, 403. S. Jerome. 
405 B. S. Sebastian. 

416. Martyrdom of S. Bartholomew? 

Gallery, S. Agnes. 

S. Peter freed from Prison. 

S. Francis of Assisi. 

Martyrdom of S. Bartholomew. 

Martyrdom of S. Laurence. 

S. Paul the Hermit and the Raven. 

S. Paul the Hermit with a Cross. 

S. Andrew. 

S. Jerome. 

Jacob Watching Laban's Sheep. 

Diogenes with the Lantern. 

Portrait of a Philosopher. 

Portrait of a Man (bust). 

Portrait of a Man with a Letter. 

Pinakothek, S. Andrew taken from the Cross. 





S. Peters- 

Dying Seneca. 

Old Woman. 

S. Peter Penitent. 

S. Bartholomew. 

S. Onofrio. 

S. Francis. 

Gallery, Christ and the Doctors. 

S. Peter Penitent. 

Two Portraits of a Philosopher. 

Palazzo Bianco, S. Jerome. 

Palazzo Durazzo Pallavicini, S. James. 

Uffizi, 1 104. S. Jerome. 

PiTTi, 73. S. Francis (1643). 

19. Martyrdom of S. Bartholomew. 

Museum, S. Sebastian. 

S. Jerome terrified by the Last Trump. 

S. Jerome in Meditation. 

Hermitage, Martyrdom of S. Sebastian. 

Martyrdom of S. Sebastian. 

S. Jerome in the Desert. 

S. Jerome in the Desert. 

S. Procope. 





Cathedral, Adoration of the Magi. 

Academia, Building of the Porciuncula. 

S. Bruno in Prayer. 


Several Studies of Saints. 

Jeronomyte Convent, Life of S. Jerome (eight 

PRADO, 1 120. Vision of S. Pedro Nolasco. 

1 121. Apparition of S. Peter to S. Pedro Nolasco. 

1 122. 

1 131. The Labours of Hercules. 

1 132. S. Caselda. 

1 1 33. The Infant Christ Sleeping. 







S. Peten- 


Museum, Apotheosis of S. Thomas Aquinas. 

S. Hugo in the Refectory. 

S. Bruno and Pope Urban II. 

The Virgin guarding a Company of Carthusians. 

The Eternal. 

The Crucifixion. 

Christ on the Cross. 

Christ on the Cross. 

The Child Jesus. 

Jesus with S. Joseph. 

Several Studies of Saints. 

Cathedral (Cap. S. Pedro), Legend of S. 

Pedro and others. 
University, S. Dominic. 
Hospital de la Sangre, Eight Studies of 

Female Saints. 
Coll. Don Lopez Cepero, Christ (a sketch). 
Palazzo de S. Telmo, Circumcision. 
Adoration of Shepherds. 
National Gallery, 230. A Franciscan. 
332. Adoration of Shepherds. 
193a Portrait of a Woman as S. Margaret. 
Coll. Duke of Sutherland, Virgin and Child. 
Coll. Earl of Clarendon, Judith. 
Louvre, 1738. S. Pedro Nolasco and S. Ramon 

de Peiiafort. 

1739. Burial of a Bishop. 

1740. S. Apollone. 

Museum, 404A. S. Buenaventura showing the 

Crucifix to S. Thomas Aquinas. 
Museum, Scourging of Christ. 
Gallery, S. Celestine. 
Election of S. Buenaventura. 
PiNAKOTHEK, S. Francis of Assisi. 
Hermitage, Virgin Praying. 
S. Lorenzo. 
A Young Peasant. 
Palazzo Bianco, The Viaticum. 





Cadiz. AcADEMiA, Virgin and Child appearing to S. 

Madrid. Prado, 667. S. John Evangelist. 

668. S. Benedict. 

669. S. Jerome and the Angel of Resurrection. 

670. Virgin and Child. 

671. Christ at the Column. 

772. The Dead Christ and an Angel. 

673. A King Enthroned. 

674. Two Kings of the Goths. 
S. Fernando, Crucifixion. 
Cathedral, Choir, Conception. 

Cap. S. Miguel, La Virgen de la Soledad. 
Cap. Trinidad, Two Miniatures. 
Cap. Jesus Nazareno, Virgin. 
Head of S. Peter. 
Christ bearing the Cross. 
Sacristy, S. Joseph. 
The Virgin. 

Oratorio, Conception. 
Cartuja, Virgin and Child. 
Cathedral, Our Lady of Bethlehem. 
University, S. Francis of Borja. 

S. Ignatius Loyola. 

University Church, S. John Evangelist and 

S John Baptist. 
Coll. Don Lopez Ceparo, The Death of S. 
Juan de Dios. 
London. Wallace Collection, 15. Vision of S. John 

the Divine. 
Berlin. Museum, 414B. S. Agnes. 



S. Peters- 

Gallery, S. Paul. 
PiNAKOTHEK, Vision of S. Antony. 
Hermitage, Virgin and Child. 
Infant Christ and S. Giovanino. 
Portrait of a Man. 
Portrait of a Knight. 






ACADEMIA, £cce Homo. 

Capuchin Convent, Conception ? 

S. Francis receiving the Stigmata ? 

Marriage of S. Catherine. 

Prado, 854. Holy Trinity (del Pajarito). 

855. Rebekkah and Eleazar. 

856. Annunciation. 

857. Penitent Magdalen. 

858. S. Jerome. 

859. Adoration of the Shepherds. 

860. The Dilemma of S. Augustine. 

861. La Porciuncula. 

862. Madonna and Child. 

863. S. James. 

864. The Child Jesus as Shepherd. 

865. The Child S. John. 

866. Los Ninos de la Concha. 

867. Annunciation. 

868. Vision of S. Bernard. 

869. S. Alphonsus receiving the Chasuble from 
the Virgin. 

870. The Virgin of the Rosary. 

871. The Conversion of S. Paul. 

872. S. Anne instructing the Virgin. 

873. S. Anne instructing the Virgin. 

874. Crucifixion. 

876. S. Ferdinand, King of Spain. 

877. The Conception, with Angels. 

878. The Conception. 

879. The Conception. 


880. The Conception. 

881. Martyrdom of S. Andrew. 

882. Prodigal Son. 

883. Prodigal Son. 

884. Prodigal Son. 

885. Prodigal Son. 

886. Infant Christ asleep in the Inn. 

887. Head of S. John Baptist. 

888. Head of S. Paul. 

889. S. Jerome Reading. 

890. S. Francis of Paula. 

891. S. Francis of Paula. 

892. An Old Woman Spinning. 

893. The Gatherers of the Com. 

894. S. Francis of Paula. 

895. Ecce Homo. 

896. Virgin of Sorrows. 

897. Portrait of P. Cavanillas, a Friar. 

898. Landscape. 

899. Landscape. 

S. Fernando, Ascension. 
The Dream of the Roman Senator. 
The Interpretation of the Dream. 
Vision of S. Francis. 
S. Diego of Alcala Feeding the Poor. 
£1 Tinoso. 

S. GiNES, Christ on Calvary. 
Seville. Museum, La Virgen de la Serviletta. 

In&nt Christ and S. Feliz de Cantalicio. 

Immaculate Conception. 

S. Augustine. 

SS. Justa y Rufina. 


SS. Leander and Buenaventura. 

S. Antony with our Lord in his arms. 


S. Pedro Nolasco. 

S. Augustine. 

Immaculate Conception. 

Virgin and Child and S. Feliz de Cantalicio. 

S. Tomas de Villanueva succouring the Poor. 

Conception (La Grande). 



Vision of S. Francis. 

S. Anthony with our Lx>rd. 

Virgin and Child, with S. Aagustine. 

S. John Baptist 

S. Joseph with oor Lord. 



Cathedral, Sacristy of the Chalices, The 

Guardian Angel and Dorothy. 
Sacristia Mayor, SS. Leander and Isidore. 
Cap. Real, Mater Dolorosa. 
Sala Capitular, Conception. 
Eight Saints. 
Cap. del Bautisterio, S. Antony of Padua's 

Baptism of Christ 

La Caridad, Moses Striking the Rock. 
Miracle of Loaves. 
S. Juan de Dios. 
S. Giovanino. 
Infiunt Christ. 

S. Maria la Blanca, Last Supper. 
Palazzo de S. Telmo, Virgen de la Faja. 
Loodoa National Gallery, 13. Holy Family. 
74. Peasant Boy. 
176. S. John and the Lamb. 
1257. Birth of the Virgin. 
1286. A Boy Drinking. 
Wallace Collection, 3. Virgin in Glory, with 

Saints (sketch). 

13. Virgin and Child. 

14. Marriage of Virgin. 

34. Adoration of the Shepherds. 

46. Joseph and his Brethren. 

58. Holy Family. 

68. Annunciation. 

97. Charity of S. Thomas of Villanueva. 

105. Assumption (sketch). 

Dulwich Gallery, 196. Flower Girl. 

222. Two Peasant Boys and a Negro Boy. 


224. Two Peasant Boys. 

281. Madonna del Rosario (repainted). 

Coll. Duke of Sutherland, Abraham re- 
ceiving the Angels. 

Prodigal's Return. 

Coll. Lord Lansdowne, Immacidate Concep- 

Portrait of Neve. 
Paris. Louvre, 1708. Immaculate Conception. 

1709. Immaculate Conception. 

1 7 10. Birth of Virgin. 

171 1. Virgin in Glory. 

1 7 12. Virgin Crowned. 

17 1 3. Holy Family. 

1 7 14. Christ in the Garden. 

171 5. Christ at the Column. 

17 1 6. Miracle of S. Diego. 

1 7 17. £1 Piojoso. 

1 7 18. Portrait of Quevedo. 

17 19. Portrait of the Duke of Osuna. 

Coll. Rothschild, Infant Christ as the Good 
Berlin. Museum, 414. S. Antony of Padua with the 

Infant Christ. 
Dresden. Gallery, Virgin and Child. 

Martyrdom of S. Roderigo. 
Munich. Pinakothek, S. Juan de Dios Healing a Lame 


Two Beggar Boys Eating Grapes. 

Two Beggar Boys with a Dog. 

Two Beggar Boys Throwing Dice. 

Boy and Girl with Fruit. 

Old Woman and Child. 
Amsterdam. Museum, Annunciation. 
The Has^ae. Museum, Virgin and Child. 
Vienna. Gallery, S. John Baptist as a Child. 

Buda-Pesth. Gallery, Madonna and Child. 

Holy Family. 

Flight into Egypt. 

S. Joseph and our Lord. 

Christ Distributing Bread. 

Portrait of a Man. 


S. Peten- Hermitage, Jacob's Dream. 
bvLTg. Isaac Blessing Jacob. 



Adoration of the Shepherds. 

Adoration of the Shepherds. 

S. Joseph carrying the Child Jesus. 

S. Joseph leading the Child Jesus, with two 

Flight into Egypt. 

Repose in the Desert. 

Holy Family. 



S. Peter Released from Prison. 

Vision of S. Antony. 

Death of the Inquisitor Don Pedro Arbuez. 

Celestine and her Daughters in Prison. 

Boy with a Dog. 

Boy with a Dog and a Basket 

Girl with a Basket of Flowers. 


Madrid. 731. Prado, Portrait of King Charles IV on 


732. Portrait of Queen Maria Louisa on horse- 

733. A Bull-fighter Mounted. 

734. Episode of the French Invasion of 1808. 

735. Scenes of May 3, 1808. 

736. Family of Charles IV. 

737. Portrait of King Charles IV (full length). 

738. Portrait of Queen Maria Louisa (full length). 

739. Portrait of Princess Mary Josephine. 
74a Portrait of Prince Francis. 

741. Portrait of Prince Charles Mary Isodorus 

742. Portrait of Prince of Parma (bust). 

743. Portrait of Prince Anthony (bust). 
743B. Portrait of a Girl. 


Don Marquez, the Actor. 

Portrait of La Tirana. 

The Pradera of S. Isidoro. 

Portrait of the Duke of Osuna. 

Portrait of Doiia Tadea Areas de Enriquez. 

Portrait of Ferdinand VI I in his robes. 

Portrait of General Urrutia. 

Portrait of Charles III. 

2 161. Portrait of Don Francisco Bayen. 

2162. Portrait of Dona Josefa Bayen, wife of the 

2163. Portrait of Himself. 

2164. Portrait of Ferdinand VII (young). 
2164A. Portrait of General Palafox on horseback. 
A Man playing the Guitar. 

A Dead Turkey. 
Dead Birds. 

2165. Crucifixion. 

2 1 65 A. Holy Family. 

2166. The Exorcism. 
The Maja (nude). 
The Maja (draped). 

2 1 66a. a Manola. 

2 1 66b. The Pilgrimage of S. Isidoro. 

2166c. A Vision of S. Isidoro. 

2166D. Las Parcas. 

2166E. Two Men Fighting. 

A Vision Fantastic. 

Two Monks. 

The Vision of the Runena de S. Isidoro. 

A Study of Witches. 

Two Men Eating. 

Saturn Devouring his Offspring. 

Judith and Holofemes. 

Two Women Laughing. 

A Group Listening to one Reading. 

A Grotesque Figure with Dog's Head. 

There are also in the Prado Gallery forty-seven 

Designs for Tapestry, eight of which are still 

S. Francisco, S. Justine and S. Rufina. 
Ministry of Interior, Ferdinand VII. 


Isidoro Maiquezy Actor. 

Ministry of Agriculture, Josefa Bayen. 

Portrait of Himself. 

Banca d'Espai^a, Don Jos^ de Tore Zambrano. 

Don Francisco Lamimbe* 

Marques de Tolosa. 

Count of Altamiro. 

Count of Catarrus. 

Academy of History, Marquis Luis de Urquijo. 

Don Jos^ de Varga. 

S. Fernando, Portrait of Manuel Godoy. 

Portrait of Moratin. 

Portrait of Himself (young). 

Portrait of Ventura Rodriguez. 

Las Corridas de Toros. 

£1 Auto de F^. 

Procession of Good Friday. 

£1 Entierro de la Sardina. 
These are shortly to be placed in the Prado 

whither the two Majas have already gone. 

In private collections in Madrid there are very 

many (more than ninety) of Goya's portraits. 

The fullest list yet published of Goya's portraits 

remaining in or about Madrid is that attached to 

B. L. Bensusan's " Goya : his Times and Por- 
traits," in The Conn&isseur for October 1902 

(Vol. iv., No. 14), to which the reader is referred. 
SanigosMu Portrait of Martin Goicoecchia. 

Portrait of Zapater. 

Portrait of Felix Colom. 

Portrait of Azera. 

Portrait of Pignatelli. 
Seville. Museum, Portrait of King Ferdinand VI L 

Cathedral, Sacristy of the Chalices, SS. 
Justa y Rufina. 

Palazzo de S. Telmo, The Manolas on a 

Portrait of Asensi. 

Portrait of King Charles IV. 

Portrait of Queen Maria Luisa. 

Portrait of Ferdinand VII. 

Portrait of Queen Isabella. 





A Woman in White. 

Cathedral (Sacristy), Betrayal of Christ. 

Cathedral, Dream of S. Francisco de Borja. 

His Death. 

Museum, Portrait of Mariano Ferrer. 

Portrait of Senora Joaquina. 

Portrait of Francisco Bayen. 

Portrait of Don Rafeel Est^ve. 

National Gallery, 1471. The Picnic. 

1472. The Bewitched. 

1473. Portrait of Dona Isabel Corbo de Porcel. 
195 1. Portrait of Dr. Peral. 

British Museum, Portrait of a Brother of Goya. 

Portrait of Melendez Vald^s. 

Coll. Rothbnstein, Two Majas. 

Monk and Witch (miniature). 

Louvre, Portrait of a Young Woman. 

Portrait of Guillemardet, Ambassador of France 

Coll. Berroilhet, Portrait of Himself. 
Coll. Leon Bonnat, Portrait of Himself. 
Coll. Jean Gigeux, Portrait of an Archbishop. 
Coll. Gaston Linden, Portrait of Dr. Peral. 
Coll. Ouday, Portrait of Mdlle. Goicoecchia. 


Alba, the Duke of, 171 
Alba, the Duchess of, 963, 965 
Albani, Francesco, 108, 246 
Alcala, the Duke of, 65 
Alcazar, Don Luis and Don Mel- 

chior, 91 
Alesio, Matteo de, 64 
Alexander VII, Pope, 150 
Algardi, Alessandro, 138, 139 
Almansa, Maria de, 188 
Altamira, the Count of, xa6 
Alva. Court Physician to Philip IV, 

Ametler, Bias, 86 
Ana, Dofia, of Austria, 15 
Anne of Austria, ici, 156 
Aroos, the Duke of, lao, 171 
Arphe, Juan d', 64 
Arpino, the Cavaliere d', x66, z68 
Aulnoy, Madame d', 965 

Balthazar Carlos, the Infant 

Don, 115, 193, iq6 
Barberini, Cardinal Francesco, 107, 

Barbola, Maria, lax, 144 

Barrera, Die||[o de la, 45 

Barrocdo, aaz 

Basques, 906 

Bassano, 56 

Bastiano, Fra, 4 

Batevilla, Baron de, 15a 

Bautista, Fray, a4 

Bayeu, a76 

Beoerra, 159, azo 

Benevente, the Countess of, 969 

Bentivoglio, Cardyial, Z39 

Bermudec. Cean, ojx-vjj 

his Dictionary t a, 3, 6^ 9, X9, 

ao. 83. 43. 44. 46. 47. Sa, 57. 73. 
iz6, x69, Z70, X7Z, 177, Z84. Z89, 
909, 9Z3, ai8, aaz, 930, a3a, 338, 
a43, a44. a45. 348, aso. 957. 973- 
Bernini, Z09, Z37 

Berruguete, 4, Z94, z88 

Bocangel, Gabriel, Z39 

Boccaodo, za4 

Bonet, z8 

Borja, Cardinal Caspar de, Z3a 

Bragainsa, Duke of, zaa 

Bravo, Don Aniceto, 85 

Bruna y Ahumada, Don Francisco 

de, 230 
Buchanan, George, Z93 
Bunyan, 369 

Cabrera y Sotomayor, Dofia 

Beatrix, 990 
Calderon, Z93 
Caliari, Paul, Z04 
Campafia, Juan Bautista, 45 

Peter, a, 45, a6z 

Cano, Alonso, 66, 80, z88-3o8 

Miguel, z88, Z89 

Caraoci, Annibale, Z64, z66, 167 
Caracciolo, Gianbattista, Z67, x68 
Caravaggio, Michael Angelo, z64» 

Carbajal, Matias de, 330 
Carbobe, Giovanni, Z33 
Cardenas, Don Jayme Manuel de, 

Carducho, Vinoensio, 66, 74, 94 
Carlos, Don, X3, 99 
Carmona, 99 
Carrefio, 976 
Castiglione, Z33 
Castillo, Juan de, 88, z88, 90Z, 9Zo, 

9ZZ, 9X9, 9Z4 

Don Juan Antonio del, 956 

Castrillo, Count of, X48 
Castro, Sanchez de, 45, 976 
Caxes^ Eugenio, 70, 94, xoo 
Cellini, B^venuto, xx8 
Cervantes, 79 
Cespedes, 66, 74, 77, 78 
Charles V, the Emperor, 151, x8o 

1 of England, King, 93, 1x4, 




Charles II. King. 146, 177, 955, 256 

Ill, King, 073 

IV. King. 95a. 965 

Chavarri, z6o 

Chaves. Leonora de, 9 

Chnmguer, 974 

Claude. 139, 976 

CoeUo, Alonao Sancbes, 9-17, 43, 


Claudio, 174 

Dofia Isabel. Z9 

Colbert. 109 

Colonna, 134. Z35, 149 

Cond6, 198 

Contreras, Fernando de, 46 

Cordoba. Don Diego de, 11 

Corenxio, Belisario, z66, 168 

Correggio. 91, 135, 136, 164, x86, 

Cortese, Leonora, 173 
Cortona, Piecro da. 136. 139 
Craycr, 95 

Crequi. the Duke de, 157 
Crescenzi, loi 
Cruz. Pantoja de la, 17 
Cumberland, his Arucdoies, 5, 6, 16, 

30, 8s, 93. 98, 119, 907 

Daguexrb. 144 

David, 967 

Delgado, Nufiez, 65 

Diaz, Gonzalo, 45 

Diego de Deza, Archbishop, 180 

D6. Giovanni, 173 

Dold, Carlo, 136 

Domenichino, 55, 108, 164, z68, 169 

Domenico dalle Greche, 99 

Donatello, 905 

Dryden, 95 

Elizabeth of Hungary, Princess, 

Eminente, Don Francesco, 955 
Escobar, Don Augustin Nunez de, 

Espinal, Juan de, 979 
Est^van, Caspar, 909 

Falcone, Aniello, 173 

Federigui, Juan, 299 

Ferdinand Vll, King, 85, 963, 973 

King of Hungary, 1x4 

Fernandez, Alexo, 45 

Diego, 95 

Luis, 58, 6s 

Fernando, the Infant Don, 99, 93, 
97, 199, 130 

ri. Giovanni. 133 
Fonseca, Don Juan, 91, 99 
Francis I, King, ici 
I, Duke a Modena, 1x7, xi8, 

„ '35. ^77 

Frandsoo de las Santas, Fray, 148 

Puensalida, Don Gaspar de, x6i 

Garcilasso. 193 

Garofialo, xo6 

Gel^, Claude. X07 

Gil, Margarita, xte 

Giordano, Luca, 37. X46. X73 

Giorgione, 33, 104, los 

Giron, Don Pedro, DiDce of Osuna, 

Glairon, xia 
Godoy, 969. 968, 969 
Goiti, Felipe Laaro de, X93 
Gongora, Luis de, 39, 89, 9X 
Gonzalez, Bartolomeo, S3 
Govantes. Don Juan de. 8s 
Goya, 99, 969-970 
Gradilla, Martinez de. 931 
Grammont. the Marechal Duke of, 

Greco, El (Domenico TheoCooopuli), 

99-43, 66, 87 
Gregory IX, Pope, 94X 
Guerdno, 108 

Guerrero, Juan Antonio, 960 
Guevara, vdez de, 94 
Guiche, 157 
Guzman, Don Alfonso Perez de, 


Don Gaspar Perez de, is© 

•^^ Don Henrique de, 194, 195, 


Haro, Don Luis de, 141, xsi. iS5t 

Henry IV. Kinp; of France, 151 

Heredia, Francisco de, 909 

Hermengild, St. . S9 

Herrera, Alonso de, 999, 998, 958 

— Bartolom^ de, 63 

Fernando de, 68 

Francisco de (The Elder), s8- 

63, 89, 88, 119, 140, z88, 906, 911, 

990, 930, 947, 967. 97Z 

y Saavedira, Don Frandsoo, Z9 

Hernandez, ZS9 
Hoefhaeghel, Geofge, 49 
Hof Huerta, Pedro de, 99 
Hogarth, 6s. 966 
Hudson, Sir Geoffrey, Z99 
Hurtado. Luis, 94 


ILLO, Pfepe, 270 

Innocent X, Pope, 105, 137, 171 
Iriarte, Ignado, 299. 276 
Isabel, Q^ieen, of the Peace, 15 
Inbella of Austria, consort of Albert 

I, X3, 14 
Queen of Philip IV, 97, 128, 

of Bourbon, 151 

of Valois, 151 

Isidore, Archbishop of Seville, 53, 

JOAN^S. 244 

7ohn III, King of Portugal, 17 
fordera, Dofta Leonor de, 184 
foseph Bonaparte, King, 85, 119 
fovellanos, Don Caspar de, 146, 

272. 273 
Juan, Don, of Austria, 140, 170, 174, 

177. 256 
Julian de Tricio, Prior, 23 

Julianillo, 125 

Juni, 159 

Justin, Prince, of Nassau. 130, 131 

Kathbrine Park, Queen, 95 

Labrador, Juan, 8 

La Lapilla, Marquess of, 132, 139 

Lanfranoo. 170 

Leal. Valdte. 225, 228, 229 

Leca, Don Miguel de, 234 

Legote, Pablo, 190 

Leonardo da Vind, 6, 134 

Leroj, Pierre, 14 

Le Sage. 117 

Liberi. Pietro, X04 

Llaguno, Don Eucenio, 274 

Llanos 7 Vald^, Sebastian de, 191, 

229. 2^, 231 
Lodovisi, Cardinal Nicolas, 106 
Lope de Vega, 12, 17, 27, 28, 67, 

Lopo, Crbtobal, 17 
Louis XI, King, 151 
XIV, King, X09, 149, 150, 

Louisa, Queen of Orleans, 122 
Loyola, Ignatius, 16, 66 
Ludwlg, Duke, of Thuringa, 240 
LuisiUo, X29 

Malaga, the Bishop of, 198 
Malagon, Marquesi of, 179 
Mallo, 9^ 
Malpica, Marquen of, 150 

Mafiara, Miguel, 246 
Manrique, Don Luis, 19 
Manzano, Don Tommaso, 173 
Margaret, Queen of Philip III, zx6 

of Austria, 37 

Maria, the Infanta, afterwards 
Queen of Hun^y, 114 

Louisa, Princess. 262 

Margarita, the Infanta, 140, 

Z41. X44>Z4S> 148 

Theresa, the Infanta, 117, 

xx8, X4X, 149, 150. X55, 156 

Mariana. Queen. 140, X4X, X46, X47, 

196, 202 
Mariana, Juan, 74 
Martinez, Luzan, 26a 
Mayno, Fray Juan Bautista, 38, xoi, 

Maiarin, Jules de, 151, 156 
Mazo Martinet, Juan Bautista del, 

140. 153 
Medina, Francisco de. 67 

de las Torres, 157, 158, X7X 

Don Juan de, 48 

Valbuena, Pedro de, 2^, 258 

Megaxejo, Don Ontonio Ortiz, 67 

Mena, Fedro de, 198 

Men^s, 272 

Menini, x68 

Methodio, 75 

Michael Angelo, 38, 77, xo8 

Milizia, Francesco de, 274 

Milton, 268 

Mimoso, Adam, 25 

Mitelli, i^, X3^. 14Q 

Moles, Vincenao, x6o 

Moncada, Inez de, 194 

Montafi^, Martinez, 65. 69, 1x5, 

X89, 190, 276 

Monteniayor, Jorge de, 8x 

Monterey, Count of, 109. 157, 171 

Mora, 140 

Morales, Cristobal, 2, 7 

Lms, x-7, X78 

More. Anthony, 9, zo 
Morelli, x6o 
Moya, Pedro de, 2x4 

Murillo, 185, Z87, 909-961, 97a, 

a7S . 
Elvira, 909 

Caspar Esteban, 960 

Nardi, zoo 

Navarrete, Juan Femandes (El 

Mudo), X8-98, 49. 943 
Neve, Canon Justino, 956, 257, 


Neve y Yevenes, Doo Justino, 935 
Newcastle, the Duke of, 94 
Nieto, Don Joseph, 144 

Olivakez, Gaspare, Count of, 93, 

H4. i«. ia4f MS. lafi. «a7. 191. 

the Countess of, 70, 73 

Olympia, Donna, 138 

Oftate, the Count of, 136, 140, 149, 

Orrente, 38 

Pachbco, Francisco. 64-79. ^> ^« 

89. 90, 91, 9a, 98, H8, 189, 311, 

330, 366. 374. 375 

Arte de la Pintura, 9, 38. 49, 

56, 66, 67, 69, 70, 7a-78, 83, 88. 

93,96, no, 115.331 

Frandsco, Canon of Seville, 

Juan Perex,67 

Donna Juana, 161 

Palavidno. Fray Felix, ^5, 36 

Palencia. Pedro Honono de. 339, 

Palomino, quoted, x, 3, 3, 9, 11, 17, 

18, 31, 39, 37, 55. 61, 63, 73, 81. 

86. 91, X17, X30. 131. X43, 144, 

146, 153, 175. 178. 187, 189. 190, 

19s. X97. X99» *». *>!, 303, 307, 
300, 335, 355. 356. 860, 366, 375 

Pannli, Cardinal, 138 

Pareja, Don Adrian Pulido, X19, 

130, X3I, 137 

Juan, 93, 103, 133. 138 

Parrbasius, 74 

Pelioer y Tovar, 195 

Pereda, 376 

Pereira, 133 

Perez, Antonio, 15, 36, 45 

Maria, 309 

Perret, Pedro, 68 

Pertusano, Niooiasito, 133, 144 

Phidias, xii 

Philip II, King, z, a, 3, 9, xo, 13, 

14, 19, 30, 3Z, 35, 36,33, 65, 80, 


Ill, King, 37, 101, 116 

IV, King, 38, 61, 69. 80, 84, 

9«. 94. 95. 97. 98. 100, 114, 1x5. 

xao. Z33, X34, X36, Z37. Z38, 130, 

131, 139-160, X74, 183. 184, X93, 

197, 30Z. 303, 338, 856 

Prosper, Don, 148, 150 

Pineda. Bernardo de, 835 
Pons, 350 

Pordenone, X04 

Porrefio, zx 

Poussin, Nicolas, 83, zo7,zo8, xxo. 

Pkete, Matteo, 139 
ProcoBccini, Eroole, 134 
Puertocanero, Cardinal, 37 
Pufiorastro, Count of, X58 


cisco, 70, X3Z, Z«3 
Quiroga, CardinalArchbishop, 3a 

Raphael, 4. 5, 47, 71, zo6, xxz, 
"3, 131. '64, X87, X9Z. 363 

Rembrandt. Z87 

Reni, Guido, zo8, Z39, z68, Z85, z86 

Rejmalte, Dofta Luisa, 9 

Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 33z 

Ribadeneyra, Father. z6 

Ribalta, Frandsco, 88, 163 

Ribera, 80, 87, ZZ4. 136, 163-177, 
187, az6, 8X7, 319, 330 

Annicca, 173 

Luis. x63 

Maria Rosa, Z70, 173, X74 

Richelieu, Cardinal, Z56 

Rioja, Frandsco de, 70 

Roca, Don Pedro, 43 

Roelas. Admiral de las, 53 

Juan de las, 53-57, 63, 89, 178, 

31 z, 333, 37Z 

Rosa, Salvator, X36, 173 

Rospigliosi, Cardinal, 138, X4Z 

Rubens, Z4, 36, 6x, 95, 103. Z03, 

ZIO, ZX3. 1X4, Z37, X33, 144, 331 

Ruggieri, z68 

Ruiz, Gonzalo, Count of Orgaz, 33 

Sachrtti, Cardinal Gtulio, 105 

Sandoval, Cardinal, 43 

San Fernando, Duke of, 1x9 

Sanguineto, Dion Rafed, Z94 

Santojo, 30 

Sarmiento, DoAa Maria Augustina, 

Schuler, X3 
Schmit, Andreas, X38 
Schut, Cornelius, 339, 33Z 
Sedano, Juan de, 68 

Sdma, Fernando, x6 

Sena, Count of, 135 

Serafin, Pedro, 39 

Siguenza, Father, 16 

Siha, Don John Rodriguez de, 81, 



Soult, ai9, 238, 945, fl6x 
Spada, Cardinal Balthasar, 106 
Spagnoletto, 5 
Spinola, Captain, Z03 

Tabara, Marquess of, 150 
Tacca. 115, 149 
Talaban, Juan Lopes, 233 
Tavera, Cardinal, 35 
Teniers, 969 

Tentor, Alonso Martin, 53 
Terranova, Duke of, 149 
Theotooopuli, Domenioo (EI Greco), 

29-43. ^. 87 
Tiarini, Alessandro, 134 

Tibaldi, Pelegrino, 19 

Tintoretto, 52, 104, 105, 134 

Titian, 9, la, 14, 15, 25, 26, 99, 30, 

31. 33. 36. ^. 104. 105, 119, 145, 

180. 186, 187, 227, 270 
Torre, Nicolas de la, 29 
Torrigiano, 2x0 
lYistan, Luis, 38, 40. 41, 87 
Triunfi, Fhuninia, 138 
Turchi, Z04 
Tttrenne, 157 

Uffkl. Burgomaster, 175 
UUoa, Dofia Marcela de, 144 
Urban VIII, Pope, 107 
Urbina, Diego de, 15 

Juan de, 17 

Urquijo, 963 

Vaga, Perino del, 46 
Valcaroel. 125 
Vald^, Juan de, 231 
Valle, Dias de, 184 

Vandyck, 14. 81, 133, 187, 216, 218, 

Van Heem, z86 

Huysum, 175 

Vargas, Don Nicholas de, 43 

Luis de, 44-Si. S8. 80, 224 

Varotari, Alessandro. 104 
Vasques, Alonso, 65 

Rodrigo, 36 

Vassilaochi, Antonio, 29 
Velasco, Dofia Isabel de, 144, 145 
Velasquez, 36, 43, 45, 59. 61, 63, 66, 

69, 78, 8o-z6i, ijo, 182. 186. 191, 

195, 206, 2x5, 2x6, 918, 220, 221, 

261, 963* 976 

Geronima, 8x 

Veronese, Paul, 60, 134 

Verrocchio, 905 

Villanueva, Don Geronimo, 96 

Villavidencio, Pedro Nufiez de, 960 

Villareal, Josef de, 159, 153 

VUlegas. c8 

Villeroy, Marechal de, X57 

Vincente de Santo Domingo, Fray, 

Voiture, 117 
Vos, Martin de, 969 

Watteau, 946 

XiMiKBS, Fray Andres, 99 
Dofia Catalina, 95 

Zamora, Gaspar de, 67 
Zuocaros, the, 96 
Zufiiga, Don Manuel de, 939 
Zurbaran, Frandsco de, 57, 80, 
178-187, Z89, 907, 919, 990, 947 


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